


let me be the light upon the lake

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Airplanes, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baseball, Beach Holidays, Beach House, Blow Jobs, Bookstores, Broadway, Campfires, Camping, Canon Compliant, Constellations, Honeymoon, Intercrural Sex, Italy, Japan, M/M, Married Life, New York City, Orgasm Control, Skyscrapers, Sushi, Swimming, Thunderstorms, Tokyo (City), Walks On The Beach, canoeing, glamping, lake house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: Five honeymoons David and Patrick don't have, and one they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't love a honeymoon, right? Well, here's six of 'em. 
> 
> In all honesty, I had a difficult time trying to figure out a way to structure this in a way that didn't seem repetitive or boring, because there's not a lot of plot progression in the idea of honeymoons generally, much less six honeymoons? So what we've got here are vignettes for 1-5, all in different locations, and then "the real one" in the +1 chapter (which is separate because it is significantly longer). I hope this is fun to read and that they all kind of tie together nicely! 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbrokelyn99/pseuds/imbrokelyn99) for the beta; I truly couldn't ask for a more detail-oriented editor to catch all my egregious typos. Thanks also to [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll) and [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cromarty) for making this fic happen, basically, for all your generous ideas and headcanons and cheerleading. I legitimately would have never figured this fic out without you guys. 
> 
> Title from Maggie Rogers' "Give a Little". I specifically love [this remix](https://open.spotify.com/track/2fs6P9koZh9mS73ipASPkV?si=f9X43L8hSS6nd7nGOsjbAQ).

1\. 

“Genuinely, I’m melting,” David says as they duck into the mostly empty theater. It’s already darkened even though the trailers haven’t even started yet, and David whispers into the quiet. “Are you sure more gelato isn’t the answer?”

“Pretty sure,” Patrick says, humoring him but nodding seriously. “We had some with breakfast—”

“Affogato is part of the _experience_, Patrick—” 

“And we shared the pistachio after lunch, remember, and if we got some now and sat around eating it, I feel like it would just melt in the sun, and you would whine, and it would be a whole thing,” he says decidedly, settling into his seat. David frowns. 

“Are you allowed to be rude to me on our honeymoon?” he asks. “You seem to be toeing the line right now.”

Patrick laughs, reaching over to fiddle with David’s fingers, twisting and turning his rings. “I don’t know if I remember agreeing to that rule,” he says, because he’s a little shit. David loves it. 

“It feels implied,” he replies, tipping his chin up, and Patrick pretends to nod along. 

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he agrees magnanimously, and David twists his mouth to the side and tries not to be charmed by it. 

He’s more than used to Patrick teasing him, really. But something about the past couple days on their honeymoon has made them both even more ridiculous, and David doesn’t know how he can handle much more of it. It feels like they can both… breathe, after the stress of the wedding and the store and just all of it, lately, everything. 

Patrick’s never been to Rome before, and even though David has more than a few times, he’s enjoying getting to watch Patrick discover it. David planned their itinerary for a change, researching the best wine tastings and scrolling through restaurant reviews. He’s the one who found the hotel, described as a “charming, under the radar gem” online, complete with a pool (which has turned out to be essential, because it’s hot as hell). He has a document on his phone with all the locations and phone numbers. He went for a healthy mix of tourist destinations and more off-the-beaten-path experiences, so Patrick doesn’t have to worry about any of it, just relax and revel in the indulgence, the beauty of it all. Patrick so rarely gets to let go that way, and more than anything David wants to give him that as a wedding gift, the knowledge that he can loosen himself a little bit, that he can let go and David will catch him. 

However, Patrick seems to have responded to this gesture by being—well, even more insufferable than usual. It almost feels like before they got together in a way, the way he teases David mercilessly at any opportunity, and it lights a familiar fire of longing in David, but somehow makes him feel very spoken for at the same time. Only _Patrick_ pesters him like this, only Patrick can wind him up this way. 

Just today they’d been taking pictures at the Coliseum, and admittedly, David had posed more than his fair share in the pursuit of the perfect honeymoon snap, and Patrick had affectionately mocked him the entire time. _I want it to look natural!_ David had begged, and Patrick had rolled his eyes, all, _I literally don’t know how to do that if you’re purposefully posing, David_. And so they’d sniped at each other good-naturedly in front of one of the world’s most recognizable historic landmarks, and David felt kind of guilty about it for half a second until Patrick pulled him out of the way and showed him the pictures. 

They were perfect—truly the only word for it. Sure, some needed straightening or a slight crop but David looked _so good_ in all of them as he flipped through, like despite his teasing Patrick had actually been trying really hard. Suddenly David felt a little bad about the quick, perfunctory picture he’d taken of Patrick in the same spot, though when he scrolls to that one, Patrick is smiling, looking a little bit sunburnt and a little bit tired and very happy, very himself. He swiped back to the ones of him before Patrick could catch him looking. 

“See?” he said, stepping forward with his palms turned up, looking pleased with himself. “Didn’t I do good?”

David handed him back his phone, settled his hands on Patrick’s biceps as his husband’s arms went around his waist. “You’d make an excellent Instagram husband,” David said, and Patrick had rolled his eyes tenderly before leaning in to kiss David with more feeling than he usually did in public. 

That was the other thing. David’s noticed Patrick seems surprisingly comfortable with PDA on this trip, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fact that they’re so far removed from their reality, or surrounded by strangers, or what, but he’s not complaining. 

A lovely couple had walked by just as they separated slightly, gesturing at their phone and seemingly asking if they wanted a picture together. Patrick stumbled his way through _yes, that would be great_ and _thank you_ in Italian, handing them his phone and then making them switch places after, so the couple got a photo too. And so David’s painstakingly arranged solo pic had fallen by the wayside in his camera roll, so he could focus instead on editing and posting the one of Patrick holding him, pressing their cheeks together, both of them practically glowing in front of the picturesque background. 

“So, I don’t get it,” David says back in the present, where they are still the only ones in this movie theater with less than five minutes to go. “This isn’t on the itinerary.” 

“I know,” Patrick replies, facing forward and apparently actually taking in this ridiculous, incomprehensible soda commercial that is currently casting bright, colorful light all over his face. “It’s just, I didn’t want to walk back to the hotel in the heat so we could relax for like, less than an hour, when our dinner reservation is over _here_ and we’d have to come all the way back, when we could sit in this cool, dark room and relax instead.” The way he’s playing with David’s hand is almost unconscious, now, and that makes David’s insides feel all warm and liquified. 

He nods, turning to look ahead too. “That’s fine, that makes sense. I just don’t understand why we’re paying to see what appears to be a very depressing, postmodern film in a language we don’t understand—” 

“David, it’s not _my_ fault if you didn’t want to practice—” 

“I know, I know, but still, I don’t feel confident that _either_ of us have the vocab to understand this, and also, what does it say that we’re literally the only ones who bought tickets to see it?” he asks, gesturing around at all the empty seats. 

Finally, Patrick turns to him. There’s a smug, mischievous glint in his eye that makes David’s heart skip a beat a little, because he knows that means he’s in for a surprise. 

“Oh, I see what the problem is,” he says, scooting in his seat so he’s closer to David. “_You_ think we’re here to see the movie.” 

God, he looks so _attractive_, so confident, that David has to stutter a bit, swallowing hard. “We’re… not,” he tries, nodding once, and Patrick nods along with him, reassuring, leaning in close and getting a hand on the back of David’s neck. 

“Not even close, David,” he says, closing the gap between them, and David finally gets it, lets out a surprised “oh!” into Patrick’s mouth as he kisses him, slow and filthy and smiling, and David laughs into it, suddenly grateful for incomprehensible Italian art cinema and his husband’s good ideas. 

//

2\. 

One of the many benefits of the beach house that is functioning as their home for these two weeks is that it’s right on the shore. If you walk out the back door, past the pool, and through the gate, you’ll be directly on the sand. David loves that. 

He wouldn’t ever say he considered himself a beach person, really. He’s done his fair share of lying around on nude beaches in his life, doing his best to avoid tan lines and look cool and skinny and unaffected, while the people around him gossiped about the same old acquaintances doing the same old things. But that was more of an obligation, part of the lifestyle, not something he would choose, necessarily. It’s a little out of his comfort zone. David’s not a huge fan of sand, or of ocean water, but Patrick’s cousin owned a cute little beachfront property that he’d offered to them for their honeymoon as a wedding gift, and it seemed much easier than trying to decide on and plan something themselves, so it won by default.

Anyway, it’s different this time. He doesn’t know why, but he really loves it—though he’s sure the fact that he’s no longer slathering himself in tanning oil and baking is a factor. 

He loves watching Patrick, for one: he seems so comfortable and relaxed here. “It was my aunt and uncle’s place, back in the day,” he’d explained when they first got there. “But Eric and his wife have really done a lot to fix it up.” He’s not wrong—David fully approves of the sand and stone color palette, obviously, with just enough kitschy beach paraphernalia to be charming instead of overwhelming, and the bed is soft and the couch is cozy and the kitchen is small, but just big enough for him to hip check Patrick as he’s making dinner and David pours the wine, so no complaints there. 

But it’s more than that, more than the fact Patrick spent time here growing up, it’s… it’s in the way some stranger’s dog will bound up to him on the sand, tennis ball in its mouth, and Patrick will laugh and throw it as far as he can, grinning. It’s the way he looks with his sunglasses on, kind of effortless and relaxed, and the way he rubs at the little indentations on the side of his nose when he takes them off. It’s the way he lies down on a towel and props his book out in front of him, ankles crossed, tuning out the noise. It’s the way sunscreen smells on his skin. The way he looks when he comes back from the water, running a hand through his hair. He looks like he just _fits_ here. 

David doesn’t think he looks the same way, but he tries. He mostly avoids getting in the water, but sometimes Patrick can’t resist pulling him in. He doesn’t mind it there, especially when Patrick swims kind of far out, and then it’s just the two of them in the quiet, floating together, riding the waves. Patrick always seems to save it for the lull in the day when there aren’t as many people around and David notices, folds that little detail up in his heart, goes easily when Patrick pulls him in to kiss, slow and lazy and perfect, hands wandering a little beneath the water. David doesn’t even feel a little bit embarrassed. 

They spend some time on the more touristy side of town too, getting ice cream on the boardwalk and taking pictures in those hokey photo props that you stick your head in. They do a little bit of shopping in town, go to a couple fancy dinners and have really excellent seafood, visit the nearby lighthouse. It feels nice to be so obviously touristy, to not even try to be cool and see that absolutely no one cares. 

But personally, David’s favorite times are in the morning and in the evening, before it’s too hot or after it’s cooled off for the day. They walk down until they’re far past where they can see the beach house anymore, then pick an arbitrary point and turn around to head back. They have long, meandering conversations about anything and everything. Mostly they hold hands, though sometimes one of them will get going on a rant and need their hands to gesture frantically. 

If pressed to choose, David would say he prefers the morning walks. There are dogs loping alongside their owners and they stop to say hi to each and every one: Patrick’s the type to get down on his knees and let them lick all over his face, while David scratches them a little more hesitantly behind the ears and mostly watches Patrick’s face go joyful and open. The way the light looks over the water at this time of the day is sometimes otherworldly, and David gets some good pictures. 

But mostly he likes seeing the other couples walking the beach at this time of day, wearing casual clothes, falling in step together, each set lost in their own little world. It’s easy to pick out who’s lived here a long time. There’s a way they walk and talk like… this is just another part of their day, another day in a long line of years: as they pass you can hear them planning meals or dissecting phone calls with family or even arguing. But there’s a solidness to them, a weight, and David sometimes wonders what _they_ look like on the outside: do they have the shine of optimistic newlyweds? If they came back here in ten years, would they look more settled in, more real? He doesn’t know if he could ever look as comfortable as they do here, though he likes the idea of it. He wishes he could be that person, a little. 

He makes himself useful instead by taking care of Patrick, however he can. He nudges him, wakes him up softly when he falls asleep in the sun so he doesn’t burn. For all Patrick’s meticulous organization, he is worryingly blasé about having his phone on the beach, so David is the one to pull out a gallon ziplock and put in their phones and wallets. He packs a cooler with drinks and snacks—Patrick recommends packing Cokes for the afternoon, when they’re groggy and headache-y from the sun. “It’s my mom’s trick, works every time. Something about the caffeine,” he says, and David feels warm and gooey inside, puts them carefully in the cooler. 

And he’s strict about sunscreen, which shouldn’t be surprising, honestly. Patrick had packed the spray kind but David had shaken his head wordlessly, taken it out of the beach bag to replace with actual lotion, even as Patrick shot him a curious, confused look. 

“What?” he says, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s ineffective, Patrick.” The words earn him a pleased little smile and an _Okay, David_. 

He keeps watch of the time and makes them reapply every hour—or well, makes Patrick reapply it, since David’s usually pulled on a shirt by then. He’s painstakingly thorough, making him lie on his stomach so he can massage it gently into his shoulders, his arms, his neck, then makes him sit up so he can do his chest and face and ears, which Patrick always forgets if left to his own devices. He remembers those silly spray bottles and thinks _you couldn’t take this from me, absolutely not_, eyes flicking up to find Patrick looking at him like he’s the best thing in the world, darting away quickly. 

“Does this have to take twenty minutes every time?” Patrick asks, happy, pleased tone undercutting his words. 

“Do you _want_ to be a miserable lobster on our honeymoon?” he shoots back, and Patrick bites down on a smile. 

“No, sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward to kiss him gently, and David’s heart flutters lightly in his chest. 

One night on their walk it starts to spit rain a good half hour in, and they have to kind of frantically jog back. It feels kind of stressful and annoying until they get inside, Patrick pulling him in through the back door, and then he starts laughing, full-bodied as he looks at David: takes in the hair flattened on his forehead on the glasses with water spots on them and the shirt stuck to his chest. 

“What?” David demands, but he knows: it’s all of it, the whole spectacle, and Patrick pulls him in and kisses him so fiercely that David shivers from something other than the cold. 

The storm rages on and they lie in bed as they catch their breath, listening to it. Patrick’s head is on his chest, and rain is beating on the windows, and all the lights are off in the house because they hadn’t bothered to turn them on when they got back in, heading straight for the bed instead. It feels almost dreamlike.

“Can you imagine if we lived here?” David whispers, giving a voice to the thoughts that have been bouncing around his head the whole time. “A little shop in town, morning and evening walks, nights reading on the front porch…”

“Mmm,” Patrick hums, a contented little sound. David cards a hand through his hair slowly. “Depends. Would you still pack me sandwiches and Cokes and extra water bottles? When we’re sixty?” 

David blushes because—well obviously Patrick had noticed all that, but he’d hoped he’d been kind of… casual about it. He’d forgotten that Patrick goes out of the way to notice the little things, acts like learning more about David every day is a personal mission, never looks so happy as when he can file away another fact about his husband in his brain.

“If you promise to drag me into the water and make out with me still, then sure,” he replies, smile coloring his words. He doesn’t care, not at all. 

“I knew you liked that,” Patrick murmurs, satisfied. He moves, settling in a little more purposefully, like he could sleep any minute now. David watches the lightning flash against the walls as he listens to Patrick take a deep breath. “I like your sunscreen technique too,” he admits, so low David almost doesn’t hear it. 

_I’ll take care of you forever,_ David thinks, starting to feel kind of sleepy himself. He wants to say it but he realizes Patrick already knows, that they promised each other that the day they got married, if not before, and closes his eyes secure in that knowledge.

//

3\. 

David’s moodboard for their honeymoon is not what Patrick expected. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like it, it just seems so… modest. Like David is trying very hard to be responsible, and considerate, but Patrick finds it hard to believe that he’s not dreaming bigger than the Hillsdale Inn & Suites with some fancy spa treatments. 

“You know,” he mentions one day, trying very hard for casual as David scribbles away in his journal, “we do actually have a budget for a real trip.” 

David’s head pops up like Patrick had just mentioned the Givenchy spring collection came out early—eager but suspicious. “What do you mean?” he asks. “I thought we were being reasonable because of the store, and the new apartment, and—” 

Patrick winces, because he knew he would have to admit this, but it’s still embarrassing. He focuses on the laptop, clicking a key here or there, idly and without purpose. “I may have been planning for it for… longer than I let on.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches David carefully set the pen down and approach him, taking his hand and tugging his body close. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and Patrick feels like he’s being hunted by a shark that’s smelled blood. “Patrick,” he says simply, uncompromisingly, and Patrick has no choice but to meet his eyes, sagging slightly in David’s hold. 

He goes for distraction. “Like, where would you want to go ideally? If you had the choice?”

“Japan,” David says immediately, still looking skeptical. 

Patrick grimaces a little, because this is really going to give him away. “We… can afford to go to Japan.” 

David’s eyes go wide, bright and excited for a second before he’s pulling on Patrick’s belt loops, slotting their noses together, mouths just a breath apart. “Patrick Brewer,” he says, voice low, eyes flicking down to Patrick’s mouth and then back up to his eyes, “How long have you been saving for this?”

He feels a little helpless, a little unequipped to answer this question when David’s so close. “I’ve had a line item in my budget for a while,” he replies, trying not to let his voice wobble and give him away. 

“How long is a while?”

Patrick squirms, putting a little bit of space between them, pulling away enough that he can see David’s face in full. It’s delighted and scandalized all at once. “See, that’s not really a fair question, because back when I added it, it was just called ‘travel,’ but then it changed to ‘travel with David’ after we started dating, and _then_ it became ‘honeymoon’ after we said I love you, and so—” 

David’s trying so hard not to grin, shaking his head like he can’t believe his husband and also like he absolutely can. “When did you _add it_ to your budget in the first place?”

Patrick groans, holding his face in his hands, words coming out soft and miserable. “The week we opened the store.” 

David tears up but he also laughs, and gives him a hard time, and pulls him into his arms and kisses the top of his head and tells him he loves him and his spreadsheets and his budgets, and that is how they decide to go to Japan. 

He’s not surprised David picked it. He knows it was one of his favorite places back when he could jet around wherever and whenever he wanted, and Patrick’s never been, so David’s excited to show it to him. He starts bookmarking Instagram posts and looking up accommodations and buying tickets to things, going into that hyper-focused mode that Patrick finds really unfairly attractive. 

Basically as soon as they step off the plane in Tokyo, David starts grinning like a little kid and doesn’t stop. Patrick’s almost surprised by the force of it, how open he looks here. But the longer they’re here, the more it makes sense: the slightly perplexing but also completely familiar black and white clothes in the stores David drags him into, the spa they go where you can soak in pools of coffee or red wine or green tea, the gorgeous temples and landscapes. They walk around museums, alternating between making up increasingly ridiculous explanations for each contemporary art piece and David actually considering them, explaining what he likes, and Patrick feels like he sees a flash of what David might have been as a gallerist, the sharp and considering eye he used in that world. Patrick gets so many pictures of his husband: David walking across a stone path in a garden, David looking up at an art installation, David in the rain on the street. He looks so purely happy in each one, and Patrick starts to see how he could have lived in the city, maybe. It’s in the way he slips so easily into the busy crowded streets with confidence, the way he smiles up at the skyscrapers and bright lights. 

They’re sitting at this little table in a tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant for sushi that David swears by, one afternoon. They’re across from each other, and David is wearing shorts—Patrick had been surprised when he’d packed them, since he’d seen David wear shorts at home maybe once. But he didn’t say anything, and David hasn’t acted like it’s anything noteworthy. He looks kind of casual in a nice way, a different way, and Patrick likes it. He’s especially glad for it now, when he can lean in against the table and reach underneath it to stroke slowly, gently over David’s knees, the way David doesn’t comment on it but quirks his mouth to the side, determined to avoid an out-and-out smile. They’ve been talking about whatever, the way you do with someone you live with every day, the way a normal conversation about a dinner menu or your plans for the afternoon can suddenly deepen into something else and then drift back into something lighthearted, easy. 

“What made you come here? The first time,” Patrick asks after their food comes, fingers fumbling with his chopsticks as he reaches for a piece of sushi. He does understand now, a bit, why David was so hesitant to try the sushi restaurant in Elmdale for so long; it’s a completely different animal compared to this. 

He watches him cock his head to the side, trying to remember. “I think Alexis was modeling? It was one of her first big shoots, so she was like 15, I think, and neither of my parents could take her, so I went.” His eyes are cast down at the table, not avoiding Patrick’s gaze but concentrating on the food in front of him instead. 

“And you managed to keep her out of trouble?” Patrick asks. 

David’s eyes flick up at him just for a second, wearing a slight smirk. “Has anyone ever been able to make Alexis do anything?” 

Patrick winces, nods. “Fair point.” 

“Anyway,” David says, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t know, it was just so… freeing, to be here, I guess. I was 20 and I could explore on my own while Alexis was at work during the day, and I could just. Breathe. I guess,” he says with a small shrug, looking a little bashful.

Patrick can see it—has seen it, since they’ve been here. David just seems so _open_, softer here somehow, and Patrick’s glad, glad that this was a bright spot in his past, that he got to grow and learn about himself in a place where he felt safe. 

“It was kind of my happy place,” he says quietly. “That’s why I kept coming back.” 

“I like it,” Patrick admits, looking at him unabashedly. “I like being in your happy place.” 

David smiles at him in this kind of knowing way, like he may not know the exact words that are running through Patrick’s head but can guess at the general tone of them, the sentiment there. He knocks his foot against Patrick’s under the table and smiles down at the table, beautiful. 

He thinks it again the next day, when they’re up on an observation deck and looking down on the city, taking in the sunset. David said he’d been here before, said it was beautiful, and Patrick agrees, feels punched in the gut by the sprawl and scope of it. It’s the kind of thing you’ll always remember. But what he’ll remember more, he knows, is stepping forward to wrap his arms around David’s waist, press a kiss into his neck, to look into the light with him and get to share this thing he loves so much.

//

4\. 

_So let me get this straight_, everyone had said. _You’re leaving middle of nowhere, Ontario, to fly to honeymoon in middle of nowhere…?_

And they’d said, _Wyoming_, as easy as anything, as if it wasn’t strange at all. 

In reality, David knows it probably seems off-brand. He’s sure half of Schitt’s Creek was expecting him to drag Patrick off to Milan or Paris or a fancy island, to transform into the snobbiest version of himself and demand to be spoiled in luxury and culture. 

But in reality, it was actually David who found the resort. It came up on his Instagram feed and looked almost too cozy to be true, not to mention reasonable and secluded and a good compromise, really, all the things they were looking for. 

“But what is glamping, exactly?” Patrick had said, with a note somewhere between amusement and pure befuddlement in his tone as he stirred pasta on the stove. 

“Glamorous camping, obviously.”

“Oh, _obviously,_” Patrick replied, fully teasing now, turning around to look at David where he was sitting on the countertop, swinging his legs slightly. 

“Yes,” David had insisted, flicking through his phone to show Patrick the pictures. “It’s tiny houses instead of tents, so we could have a working stovetop and a real bed for me, and gorgeous vistas and outdoorsy adventure for you,” he explained with his most winning smile. Patrick must be at least a little bit charmed by it, because he turns away from dinner to come look, taking David’s phone into his own hands, a look of gentle surprise coming over his face. 

“This looks… gorgeous, actually,” he says, lingering over the picture of the fire pit positioned winningly in front of the little cabin, evening light streaming into frame. 

“There are hot tubs,” David says, gesturing with his hands. “In the, like, village part of it, and a little ice cream shack, and a waffle place, and wildlife tours, and _hikes_—” 

“Okay,” Patrick had said, handing back his phone and kissing David’s cheek softly. “We’ll look into it.” 

It hadn’t taken much convincing in the end. Patrick had crunched some numbers, done some research, flipped through the website, and then they’d booked. 

“David, you’re going to get bored on day _two_,” Alexis had said, teasing mercilessly when they’d told his family over a dinner at the cafe.

Moira had handed back his phone with a sort of dubious wince. “It has a superlative aesthetic, dear, but there’s just no glamour in the concept of it, unfortunately. Or the word, really, my god—_glamping_!” She made it sound like an entirely different word, the way it came out of her mouth, and David had rolled his eyes.

“Oh Moira, it’s not like we needed much on our honeymoon, did we?” Johnny cut in, a fond and nostalgic look coming over his face. 

“_Ew,_” Alexis said emphatically, brandishing a perfectly manicured finger in his direction. “Think before you continue that sentence.” 

“No, no!” Johnny crowed, taking Moira’s hand. “Not like _that_, Alexis, please. Just, we weren’t wealthy then, but we managed to be perfectly happy with a bottle of wine, some time to relax…” he trailed off, and it was kind of sweet for a moment, actually, until Alexis gagged loudly, and David couldn’t help but chuckle at his Dad’s furrowed brow. 

But at the end of the day, his dad hadn’t been wrong. That’s all he wants for his honeymoon, really: good coffee in the mornings, a nice bottle of wine in the evenings, maybe some s’mores, and Patrick. Just him and Patrick. 

They get more than that, of course they do. They go on a nature walk with a group and see an actual bear, which is kind of amazing and a lot less scary than David had imagined. They visit a national park and spend an afternoon by the most gorgeous lake, backed by lush green trees and jagged mountains. They drive to a fancy wine tasting, eat a nice dinner in a farm-to-table restaurant. They get ice cream almost every day from the little shack David had scoped out. They spend some afternoons lying around in their gorgeous accommodations, sometimes reading leisurely on the couch, sometimes watching the wind blow through the trees in the large, clear windows, sometimes pulling all the curtains closed to make each other gasp and cry out and laugh and come. 

But David loves the nights best, the way they envelop them and make him feel like they’re in their own little world. 

“Do you know any of the constellations?” David asks, casually around the fire one evening. They’re spread out on a big, wool blanket on the ground, have another tangled up over them. They’d gone for generous pours of Fireball in their hot chocolate instead of wine tonight, and David’s snuggled into Patrick’s chest, their empty mugs abandoned off to the side. It’s dark, and they should really head inside soon, but David just wants to make this moment last a little longer. 

“Do you?” Patrick asks back, because as long as they’ve been together, he still wants to know about David first. David stifles a grin at the thought. He shakes his head. 

“I can identify them on paper? And I know their meanings. Like, astrologically,” he says, and Patrick just hums. The sound makes David feel warm. “Also, I asked you first.”

“Oh, yeah I do,” he says confidently, the kind of way David has come to recognize as total bullshit. “See that one right there?”

David follows the long arc of his arm and squints at the sky, trying to figure out where he means. “Which one?”

“That one,” Patrick says, unhelpfully as ever. “You still can’t see?” 

“_No_,” David huffs, because Patrick is being annoying on purpose and he still falls for it. Patrick chuckles, moves so that he’s lying down on the blanket and David follows, their shoulders touching and eye lines even. 

“Okay, that bright one?” he says again, and David kind of does see it now, nods. “And the three little ones next to it?” He nods again. Patrick tips his head to look at David, smiling, pleased. “That one’s called the David Rose.” 

David feels himself flush all the way down the back of his neck, his cheeks and the tips of his ears, everywhere. “Oh,” he says, a soft little hesitant sound. “Hmm, okay,” he allows, scooting closer so that his head is on Patrick’s chest. “And why is it called _that_?”

“Because,” Patrick says, easy as anything, his hand caressing slowly down David’s arm, “The way they’re clustered together looks just like the freckles on your left shoulder blade.” 

“Oh,” David says again. But this time it doesn’t feel like he says it; the sound feels knocked out of him, involuntary. He nudges his head so he can see Patrick’s face, see him smiling down at him, see the way he looks both ridiculously pleased and seems to hold his breath at the same time. 

“Well,” David says, turning back. He can’t look at Patrick for too long when he’s like that, sometimes. It feels like looking into the sun. “I maybe know a few.” 

“How fortunate,” Patrick says, half a laugh. 

“That one,” David says, pointing up, ignoring him. Patrick gives the sky above them a cursory glance, like he doesn’t want to spend too long looking away from David’s face. “That lil curve? That’s what your mouth does when I win a discussion.” 

“An argument?” 

“A _discussion_,” David repeats, determined. He doesn’t know how to say _that thrilled look you get when I tease the hell out of you to the point where you can’t respond_ without sounding overly mushy, so he doesn’t. But when he peeks up at Patrick, there it is, that gorgeous tilt to his mouth that David is basically always trying to make appear. 

“I see,” Patrick says, pressing his lips to David’s hair and leaving a kiss there. 

“Tell me another,” David murmurs, wiggling closer, tugging up the blanket a little. 

“Well, that one there is what your brow does when you’re annoyed. That tiny furrow,” Patrick says, not even bothering to gesture up at the sky this time. His one hand is still on the curve of David’s shoulder, and just like that, the other winds itself around David’s waist. “And over there, that’s the dimple you always try to hide.” 

“Mm,” David agrees, snuggling up a bit so he can brush Patrick’s nose with his own. “I see your baseball calluses up there.” 

“Where?” Patrick breathes between them, and David turns away, points randomly up, trying not to laugh. He can tell that Patrick’s doing the same, both of them holding it in giddily. He watches his husband squint, focused on David’s hand above them instead of the actual sky. “Hmm, I don’t see it.” 

“It’s right—” David protests, but it comes out breathy, giggly, and then Patrick’s reaching up and catching his hand, pulling it down as he leans in, kissing the words right out of David’s mouth. 

That night in the lofted bed, Patrick makes him feel like the night sky, kisses over every part of him he can find like he’s mapping out the stars—_there was the hollow of your throat, the line of your jaw, the bump of your wrist, the jut of your hip_—and David trembles, knots his hands in Patrick’s hair and lets out the most desperate, overcome whimpers. 

Patrick falls asleep on his chest after, and David watches the rise and fall of his breath in the darkness and thinks about light, those little pinpricks in the sky. The way they seem so much brighter out here, the way it feels like looking into the past. 

“We can come back,” he whispers into Patrick’s hair, even though he’s long asleep. “In a few years, we should come back in the winter. We can try the ski resort nearby, and spend mornings curled up in bed, watching it snow, and pack lots of chunky knits and keep each other warm.” 

Patrick huffs in his sleep and David smiles, scratching at the short hairs at the back of his neck and picturing it. He can see Patrick, pink-cheeked from the cold and smiling, rubbing David’s hands between his own to warm his fingers. He can see it. As he closes his eyes, he can see it. 

//

5\. 

Stevie drives them to the airport for their flight to JFK. They get there with exactly two hours before departure, which is cutting a little closer than Patrick would ideally like, but he’s trying to be chill on what is technically the first day of their honeymoon. 

“He once tried to run away with _me_ to New York, you know,” Stevie teases, “so really, I feel like I deserve this vacation.” 

David rolls his eyes affectionately. “If we’re going by that logic, what you really deserve is a couple days on an Amish farm,” he counters. They’re standing on the curb, pretending to scowl at each other, and Patrick is hyper-aware of the security guard who’s going to tell them to move the car any minute now. 

“I’m getting out the bags, I’m not looking and I won’t tell a soul if anyone hugs goodbye right now,” he says, and when he looks up from removing their four suitcases (only one and a half of him his) from Stevie’s trunk, David’s scrubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, both of them looking a little embarrassed. Stevie gives Patrick a quick hug too, and then he and David are on their way inside. 

Patrick hates flying. He’s sick for days beforehand, stomach tight with anxiety about packing, missed flights, and turbulence, just to name a few. But it’d been his idea to take a week in New York for their honeymoon, mainly because of the look on David’s face once when they were dating and Patrick admitted he’d never been. It had been one of their first dates, and David had gone on for nearly half an hour about all his favorite places and all the things he loved about the city. If it had been an early date with anyone else, Patrick would have found this behavior obnoxious, but something about the way David’s eyes lit up and his hands moved as he talked just made Patrick want to experience it too, want to be there with him to see his face light up over them in person. It’s going to be worth it, Patrick knows it is. 

Just being with David in the airport calms him a lot. He talks incessantly while they wait in line for security in a way that is both amusing and distracting, making cutting comments about everyone begging their way to the front. “I read an article about it, you know? People who intentionally show up late and then have to beg, borrow, and plead to make their flight, just so they can brag about it later? Sociopaths,” he mutters under his breath, and Patrick can’t help but laugh. Once they find their gate, David drags him over to browse through Hudson News with deliberate slowness, which Patrick finds annoying at first but actually kind of works—he gets caught up reading book jackets until they check out, and then it seems like as soon as they sit down at their gate, it’s time to board. 

“Hey,” David says, reaching for his hand on the armrest once they finish taxiing, about to take off. He gently peels Patrick’s fingers from his white-knuckled grip on it before lacing them with his own. Patrick thinks he’s going to say something blandly reassuring, some kind of platitude he’s heard before that hasn’t worked. “I’ve been thinking some more about apartment number two.” 

David really has no new thoughts about apartment number two, Patrick can tell immediately. They’ve been talking back and forth between their two choices for two weeks now, circling the same points. It’s a familiar dance, and Patrick knows his lines, falls into the discussion like a reflex, and then all of a sudden they’re in the air and he forgot to be nervous about it. 

“Thank you,” he says, the words quiet once the plane evens out in the sky, and David just squeezes his hand in reply. 

Once they actually get to the city, they don’t leave their hotel room for a full day. They basically fall into bed exhausted, and then the next day spend some good quality time with room service and terrible reality TV. Then there’s a fair amount of time spent getting tangled in the sheets, then in the shower until the water runs cold, and then in the bath big enough for two. 

But after that, Patrick’s antsy to get out and David’s excited to start in on the itinerary he’d planned. Patrick couldn’t be more curious to get started. 

There’s a really lovely SeaGlass carousel in Battery Park he takes them to, which is fairly new and kind of magical: they go around and around and Patrick can see David filming him from his separate little car, smiling. They visit the Museum of Sex, which is a good combination of informative and historical and just plain fun, with plenty of what David calls “Instagram-friendly exhibits.” One is a startling array of mirrors, which Patrick pushes him in front of to get a picture. It comes out nice: David shy for once, head ducked down a little, smiling at his feet. One day, they spend hours at the Strand, wandering off and then coming together periodically to show each other something, then browsing quietly again for long stretches of time. By the time they’re done, David has four books in his hands and a sheepish look on his face. “I got this one for you,” he says, handing him a copy of _Ballpark: Baseball in the American City_. His lips are tucked to one side and Patrick can tell that he’s a little uncertain about it still. “I thought it might be a nice souvenir,” he continues, “since we’re going to that game tomorrow—” but Patrick kisses him fiercely before he can finish the sentence. 

The game is great. David even gets caught up in the excitement when a foul ball sails in their direction, though they don’t catch it. A little blonde kid does, a couple rows down, and he feels warm about that outcome anyway. They cheer for the kiss cam, and Patrick gets a little choked up when it cuts from an older, graying couple to two young women, one of whom is balancing a baby on her hip. They sing during the seventh-inning stretch. David munches on hot dogs and popcorn and even gamely shares Patrick’s beer, so that when Patrick kisses him he tastes like baseball and smells like sunshine and okay, maybe Patrick is a little tipsy, but he’s so goddamn happy he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care when they lose, though he goes from good-naturedly amused to flushing hot when David says “_Fuck_ the Yankees” emphatically, and Patrick stands stock still for a second, frozen in the hotel lobby before grabbing David around the waist and pressing up behind him, face in his neck. 

David laughs. “You’re easy, huh?” he asks. 

“We gotta get upstairs,” is all he can reply in a low, rough voice. David just laughs some more. 

Patrick plans them a little picnic in Central Park one afternoon, stocks up on fruits and cheeses and even buys a blanket. David leans against him in the afternoon sun and they snack and talk and Patrick can’t stop thinking about how much it’s like the proposal. He thinks David’s thinking the same thing, from the slight flush on his cheekbones. 

Everything they eat is fantastic. David manages to pick all the best places on instinct, which never fails to impress Patrick. Morning bagels from the deli on the corner, pizza slices they fold in half and eat on the sidewalk, dim sum in Chinatown, cookies from this incredible bakery, a darkened little wine bar where David gets a little drunk, foot caressing up Patrick’s thigh under the table. They had a couple reservations in nice restaurants planned, but for the most part it’s all spontaneous, and it makes Patrick wonder. 

“You know, we can go places you used to go,” he says, because he had expected a little bit more of that, maybe. A glimpse of the life David used to live. 

David just wrinkles his nose. “What, you wanna see the club I stumbled out of so drunk that I twisted my ankle? The 2500 square foot live-work space in SoHo that I _always_ woke up alone in, no matter how many people I brought home the night before?” He makes a face. Not an angry one, just a little bit baffled, a little like there’s a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Not… that,” Patrick says hesitantly, sorry for bringing it up. “I meant—” 

David kisses him, quick and casual, before he can finish his sentence. “I know what you meant,” he says, taking Patrick’s hand to twine their fingers together, swinging them slightly. “I have something planned for later in the week, but it’s a surprise,” he says, looking away. 

“Okay,” Patrick says, soft and touched. He didn’t know David had any surprises planned; he had no idea. 

David dresses up a little for it, so Patrick does too. David takes him to a nice dinner first—though a kind of early one—and Patrick spends most of it trying to tease out where they’re headed, since David emphasizes this isn’t the surprise. 

“I think I’ve really settled on improv marathon as the most realistic option,” he says, just to watch David choke on his wine.

“Did anyone ever tell you that patience is a virtue?” David says, eyes down on his plate. 

“Pretty sure you already know more than anyone about my patience levels,” he replies, a little bit under his breath, and he didn’t mean it in a sexy way at all but he catches David’s smirk anyway. 

Patrick doesn’t guess it. He never would have guessed that David would be pulling him by the hand into a fancy theater, that they’d be sitting in these red velvet seats, that David would be fidgeting nervously while Patrick perused the playbill for _The Phantom of the Opera_. 

“Okay, you win,” he admits, putting David out of his misery. He’s been sneaking glances at Patrick since they sat down, clearly awaiting a reaction. “I never would have guessed this.” 

He turns his head to watch the grin bloom over David’s face. He shifts, sitting up in his seat so he can lean his cheek against Patrick’s shoulder, get closer. His voice is low, honest. “This is what I would do if I had a really shitty week. Turn off my phone, come up here, buy a ticket to literally anything, and get to think about something else for three hours.” 

There are a million things Patrick wants to ask, but he knows David just shared a hard part of himself and he looks a little fragile right now, so he settles on just one. “Did it work?”

David nods into the fabric of his jacket. “Mostly,” he says, and Patrick takes his hand, squeezes his fingers as the lights go down. 

Patrick’s obviously never seen the show, or even the movie, but it immediately clicks in him as something that makes sense for David to like. It’s big and dramatic and camp, with romance and intrigue, and Patrick gets a flash of an image, a young David holding Moira’s hand as they walk into the theater, the two of them sharing this thing they love. He wonders if David had a crush on the Phantom or on Raoul; he bets the Phantom. He goes to get them champagne at intermission and they clink their glasses together happily, sipping while David picks his brain about what’s going to happen, his favorite parts so far. Patrick thinks about how people heal, about how they give you little parts of themselves and trust you to help them turn it into something good this time. 

He feels stupidly fond of David when it’s over and they walk hand-in-hand to the subway, slowly making their way back to the hotel room that David’s parents gifted them as a wedding present. David’s talking about the different productions he saw over the years, and Patrick’s smiling, nodding along, thinking of the way he’d squirmed happily in his seat when Patrick had gasped at the costume reveal for the “Masquerade” number. 

“What did you think?” David finally asks when he catches his breath, eyes still flushed and bright, the adrenaline of watching the show still running through him. 

“I loved it,” Patrick says easily, honestly, before quirking his mouth into something teasing. He watches David’s face change in response, excited and anticipatory. “It’s a little depressing, though, huh?”

David’s face goes offended, though it feels fun, not serious, and Patrick can’t help but grin. He can’t count all the unimportant arguments they’ve had about things like this, bickering playfully over Mariah Carey or romantic comedies. “What are you saying right now? The Phantom gets kindness! Christine gets true love! It’s _redemptive,_ Patrick!” 

He steps closer, arms around David’s waist, pulling him closer. David’s smile threatens to spill out, but he keeps it inside for a little longer. “And it’s not very singable. We should have gone to like, _Mamma Mia_ or something.” 

The sound that escapes David is caught between a gasp and a laugh, and he pokes Patrick in the chest with one finger. “I mean, you’re not wrong that _Mamma Mia_ is excellent, but I won’t tolerate this Phantom slander.” 

Patrick leans in close, mouth to David’s ear as he starts to sing, voice a whisper. “If you change your mind, I’m the first in line…” 

David giggles and tries to push him away, but Patrick keeps singing on and off, belting it out once they’re on the sidewalk, in the open air, the words _my love is strong enough to last when things are rough_ echoing off brick buildings and down alleyways. David’s still laughing, hard enough that barely any sound is coming out, nearly doubled over, pushing Patrick away playfully when he crowds up behind him. He’s blushing fierce and wild, _shh_ing Patrick once they approach their hotel, and Patrick quiets agreeably. 

David shoves him up against the back of the door once they get inside their room. “You are so embarrassing,” he says fondly before kissing him, and Patrick opens his mouth, lets David in. He thinks about how he hopes the next time David thinks of _Phantom_, he will think of Patrick making a complete and utter fool of himself on the way home, making David laugh so hard he can’t breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real one.

+1.

They’d promised, after the wedding. They’d have a honeymoon, just not yet. Things felt too fragile with the store, with his family, with Alexis gone; it just didn’t feel like the right time.

“We’ll reassess in a year,” Patrick had said to him in their bed one night, one of the first in their new house. “Use this time to brainstorm, make a moodboard.” David had laughed.

But the first year had proved chaotic: Stevie and his dad were expanding the motel, running a place in Hillsdale now too, and so he and Mom were looking for a new place. Patrick’s dad had a heart attack just the week before their anniversary, so they spend it in his hometown, Patrick trying to wait on his dad whenever he could and begging his mom to sit down, rest a minute, David trying to be supportive and unobtrusive as much as possible. It had been a hard time, and honestly, neither of them had even thought about a honeymoon.

Year two had been eaten up with opening their Elmdale location, which kept them both up at night. David couldn’t help but obsess over every tiny detail, it felt like his baby all over again, just as exciting and nerve-wracking and terrifying.

“I don’t know if we should risk it right now,” David says. “What if something goes wrong and it’s a drain on financials? We need to be cautious,” he insists, the words sounding like something more likely to come out of Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick had smiled at him softly.

But as the new year starts, Patrick is insistent.

“We’re doing it this year,” he insists on New Year’s Day, soft in his pajamas on the couch, mug of tea in his hands as David journals. “It’s my resolution, it’s happening, we’re having a honeymoon.”

“Okay,” David says quietly, helpless to the love and determination in his face.

They almost don’t make it. They kind of forget, swept up in their lives, but Patrick calls a meeting around their kitchen table in September, determined to have some kind of plan in place by the end of the year, at least. David doesn’t know why his hands are shaking a little when he sits down, but he thinks it’s the expectation. What if Patrick’s brainstormed and wants his opinion? Or worse, what if he expects _David_ to have ideas. He has nothing, absolutely nothing.

“Alright,” Patrick says, and he has his business face on, and David feels a spike of nerves. “I know we’ve been waiting for the right time, and by that logic we should do this big, go somewhere we can sightsee, just, really go all out, but—” David tenses, nails biting into his palms with anxiety, and then Patrick sighs, “—David, I’m so tired.”

All the tension seeps out of him and he looks _exhausted_ across the kitchen table, bags under his eyes and a sag to his shoulders. “What?”

Patrick looks so sad, so disappointed in himself, and David feels warmth and affection curling in him slowly. “I know, I’m sorry, but I just want to lie around and go swimming and eat constantly and spend a lot of time in bed and only leave for like, a nice dinner or ice cream in the afternoon, or restocking on groceries, or maybe some window shopping.”

He won’t meet David’s eyes, jaw set, and David tries really hard not to grin as he says, “Me too.”

His gaze jumps up, looking hopeful and disbelieving all at once. When he speaks, his voice is small. “Really?”

David nods, biting his lip hard. “Mmhmm. With—with maintaining the new location and employee training and all the work we’ve been putting in lately, I just, the thought of jetting off to somewhere we’ll have to walk around and look up tours and book things is just, a lot,” he admits, and Patrick is blinking at him like he can barely believe what David’s saying.

“Thank god,” he sighs, reaching out across the table and laying his hand flat. David takes it immediately, giving a squeeze. Patrick looks down at David’s hand on top of his own kind of wistfully, like he can’t believe his luck. It’s been three years, and the fact that David still sees that expression pretty regularly blows his mind. He lets Patrick fiddle with his fingers. “Maybe at five years, we can do something big.”

“Mmm,” David hums, nodding along, tone playful. He doesn’t care at all, Patrick’s rough idea sounded perfect, he doesn’t need anything else. Patrick looks up at him, grinning slowly with anticipation. “Can I get that in writing?” he teases, and Patrick laughs, head thrown back, looking beautiful.

And it’s easy, after that, after they’ve talked about it in open air and discovered they’re both on the same page. Patrick spends a couple nights in front of a spreadsheet, creating what he promises David is a reasonable budget, and then David spends a good two weeks googling “romantic cottage” and “lake house cabin” and showing Patrick endless Airbnb listings. Finally, they stumble upon a pretty A-frame, set right on the lake with a gorgeous little private dock and a nice deck, complete with a fire pit, clean, simple interiors and a spacious kitchen, a propane grill, some Adirondack chairs. It’s an indulgence for sure, but it’s not a huge splurge, and they book a week in the summer.

“So we technically missed the mark by six months,” David says when they crawl into bed the night they book.

Patrick sets his book on the nightstand, pulls him in, voice quiet. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It’s a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere, and everyone makes fun of them. Roland makes cracks about Milan or Paris, and Ray mentions that if money is the problem, he could actually get them a very good deal on a travel package to any of the five available locations of their choice. Stevie taunts them that they might as well have booked Bob and Gwen’s cabin and saved on travel time, but none of it sticks. Patrick laughs good-humoredly, and David barely acknowledges any of it, too excited for it to be just to two of them and no emergencies at the store, no drama from his mother, and no one to share Patrick’s attention with. He keeps the photos of the listing on his phone and scrolls through them in the stockroom when he just needs a minute, and every night in bed he mentally ticks off another day. One more down, one day closer to being there.

They leave the stores in the capable hands of Maggie, who manages the Elmdale location. She’s got their part-timers there working extra hours so she can oversee the one in town, which basically runs like clockwork at this point, but David still gives her every phone number in the book if for some reason she can’t reach them: Stevie, Ted, Alexis, and, only if it’s absolutely necessary, his dad. She and Patrick both assure David it’ll be fine, really, he has nothing to worry about, but he still types up an “In Case of Emergency” binder that encapsulates everything from “A customer is angry!” to “The store is being robbed!” to “Roland/My mother want to take something from the store without paying!”

“David, she _runs_ the Elmdale location,” Patrick points out, squinting sleepily over his shoulder as he scans the text. He’s already in pajamas, teeth brushed, about to head to bed, but right now he’s massaging David’s shoulder where he’s seated at the kitchen table, reading it through one last time. “I think she already knows most of this stuff.”

“You and I are both aware that the location in town has its own specific challenges,” he says stubbornly, scrolling down to the page that’s titled _Schitt’s Creek location - miscellaneous._ It starts with “Under no circumstances should Ted and Alexis be alone in the store together” and ends with “Realistically, it is probably easiest to let Stevie just take the case of wine she wants in return for helping out.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to be a phone call away, not Mars,” he mutters.

//

“Not on Mars!” David says first thing after they get there, when they both have zero bars. He’s paced around the whole cottage, arm extended and phone as high as he could reach. “We didn’t need the binder because we wouldn’t be on Mars!” He sounds annoyed and smug and anxious all at once, and he can tell on Patrick’s face that he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh at him, but having a hard time when he’s just so happy to be here. Patrick’s been giddy and affectionate since they left, kissing David in the airport newsstand while they waited in line to pay (he bought _Sportsnet_, David bought _Vogue_ because Rihanna was on the cover) and squeezing his thigh on the drive here in the rental car.

“David,” he says, setting the last of their bags down in the hallway with a soft smile as he steps forward, patiently taking his face in his hands. “That coffee shop we passed on the way into the neighborhood had a sign for free WiFi. We can go there later, and you can call Maggie, and you can work out a game plan, and it will be _fine_. We came here to relax, remember?” he asks, and David rolls his eyes but nods, still a little petulant.

“It’s just been a long day, and I’m hungry?” he says, whining just a little, and Patrick’s smile turns into an out-and-out grin, and he presses a kiss to David’s forehead, grabs the keys off the island.

“Then let’s go, we can hit it on the way to the grocery store. We need to stock the fridge.”

David bites his lip and smiles down at his shoes. “Like Bill Gates?” he murmurs, low enough that he hopes Patrick can’t hear, but still gets a confused look from his husband over his shoulder as they head for the door. David just shakes his head, keeps it to himself.

The coffee shop is cute, there’s a country store/art gallery/antique shop attached that’s really charming, actually. Patrick seems to enjoy browsing through, chit-chatting with some locals, and they’re definitely going to have to come back because there’s some really pretty pottery David wants to look at, but for now what’s really important is that he’s updated Maggie and they set up a daily 2 PM check-in call just to make sure everything runs smoothly.

After that, Patrick drives them to the grocery store, which is another twenty minutes, but he lets David flip through the stations under he finds some staticky Destiny’s Child, which soothes him a little bit.

“Okay,” Patrick says once they get there, one hand on the handle of the cart and the other on his phone. David peeks over his shoulder to see “Meals: 8/11 - 8/17” at the top of a note. Patrick scrolls past the list of linked recipes to a grocery list with little open circles to check off, and David bumps their shoulders together softly. Patrick turns, giving him a quick, quizzical smile and a “What?” but David just shakes his head, follows as Patrick sets a course through the aisles. He lingers at the deli for longer than is really necessary, pretending not to notice while David browses through the wrapped sandwiches in the refrigerator case, plucking out a turkey and avocado wrap and grabbing a bottle of homestyle lemonade to go with it. He takes a ham and cheese on white for Patrick, just in case, and a water, and tries to put them in the cart when he’s looking the other way, even though Patrick gives him a fond, knowing look when they slide across the belt at the checkout. He asks the bag boy to keep them separate, please, and eats one-handed in the car as he drives them down dirt roads, and David loves him.

He insists that Patrick walk through the house when they get back, unloading all their groceries into the pantry and then the fridge by himself, fussing over making sure the condiments are lined up just right in the side door when he feels Patrick’s arms go around his waist, his husband’s lips pressed to the back of his neck. He twines his fingers with Patrick’s, leaning back for a second and closing his eyes. “It’s a really nice place,” he murmurs, because he’d forgotten to say it earlier, with all the drama, and Patrick hums in agreement.

//

Day two is better. He wakes up slowly just around noon, since neither of them bothered to set an alarm, Patrick curled warmly around him and his dick hard against his ass. “Mm,” he groans, voice gravelly as he turns over, winding his arms around Patrick’s middle and waking him up with soft kisses to his neck that gradually turn slower, more deliberate. “Good morning,” he finally says, when he feels Patrick’s breath catch and he reaches up to rake his nails through David’s hair, pulling back to see the sleepy and wanting look on his face.

“Morning,” Patrick mumbles back, angling David’s head to kiss him fully, tongue in his mouth, morning breath be damned. David angles a thigh between Patrick’s legs, letting him roll forward into it, lazy and sluggish, and that is round one.

“Pretty low effort for honeymoon sex,” David teases as they strip, waiting for the water to warm in the shower. It’s one of those fancy ones, with a waterfall head, and there’s also a large bathtub that would fit them both easily and is definitely on his list of things to do while they’re here.

Patrick tilts his head to one side. “Are you complaining?” he asks, pushing David gently back under the spray just as he opens his mouth to respond. The water pounds his back, his scalp, flattens his hair into his eyes and Patrick drops to his knees, one hand around the base of David’s dick as he takes him as far back as he can immediately. David moans, leaning back to brace against the wall, hand scrambling on the tile so he doesn’t go weak at the knees and then the spray is over Patrick, clumping his lashes together as he looks up at David. That’s round two.

Eventually they get clothes on, padding downstairs to the kitchen. Patrick gets fancy and makes eggs benedict while David sits on the island and just generally bothers him, swinging his legs and angling for kisses whenever he passes and teasing him the whole time. Patrick isn’t quite happy with his hollandaise sauce because it separates a little bit, but David kisses away his frown every time he tries to complain about it until Patrick tells him to stop, seriously, or else their food will get cold. But he smiles around the rim of the mug of tea David made for him, so David counts it as a win. David does the dishes afterwards.

They drive back out to the coffee shop after that, and David talks to Maggie for all of three minutes before she’s pushing him off the line, assuring him that everything is as expected and telling him to go have fun on his belated honeymoon. David leans back in his chair as the line goes dead, looking at the iPad he’d set up on the table and feeling a little bit stupid before he gathers his things, walking over to the register to order a coffee when his eye catches the case of ice cream right next to it, gleaming and colorful and perfect. “You know, we have this specialty here, lattes à la mode?” the woman says, and David feels his face light up. He orders her recommendation, trusting that a scoop of maple pecan is the best option, and then wanders through the shop for a little while before catching up with Patrick, who’s deep in conversation with the owner, swapping stories back and forth.

Once they’ve gotten his business card and a couple interesting ideas to consider, they make their way back to the cottage for what’s left of the afternoon. “You know, you were the one who said we should relax on this trip,” David says as Patrick outlines how it might feasibly work, having a handcrafting workshop at the store, and is thrilled to see him look a little bit cowed, even if it was the gentlest of ribbing.

“Sorry,” he admits as he flops down on the couch, and David brackets his thighs, towering over him, trying not to shiver when Patrick smooths a hand up his arm. “Guess I need something to take my mind off it,” he admits, a glint in his eye, and a rush goes through David, hungry.

He rushes over to the big windows that show off the backyard to pull the curtains shut while Patrick sheds his clothes, just as desperate. He even dashes to the bathroom to grab lube and a condom, and when he comes back, Patrick is laughing warmly.

“Where’d you go?”

“I wanna ride you,” David breathes in response. Half the words end up in Patrick’s mouth but it doesn’t matter; Patrick groans into the kiss and works his hands under David’s sweater, on the zip of his jeans, hands quick and desperate. Before long his hands are braced on David’s hips, fucking up into him while David whimpers, head thrown back, and David collapses on Patrick’s chest afterwards, which is soothing for a second before he’s being jostled by Patrick’s quiet laughter.

“What?” he asks, turning his head to see Patrick’s delighted, overcome expression.

“Why do you taste like ice cream?” he asks back, and David laughs too.

Afterward, they clean up and make dinner: a joint effort as Patrick rolls out the pre-bought pizza crust onto a pan and David layers with sauce, cheese, and all the toppings they have that make sense. They make out lazily against as it bakes, David pressed against the countertop. This is how they learn that the oven runs _really_ hot, because they turn the timer off when it beeps but don’t bother to get the pizza out for a couple another two or three minutes, too distracted by hands and mouths, and when they do remember the crust is a little bit charred around the edges.

Patrick troops out to the hightop table on the deck with the pizza pan and a bottle of red, leaving David to follow behind with glasses and plates and a pizza cutter he’d thankfully found in some random drawer, and they eat outside and watch the sun go down, getting progressively tipsier, handsier, and more obvious with their game of footsie.

“Wanna go to bed?” Patrick asks eventually, voice low and soft, and David does, lets Patrick take him by the hand and walk him upstairs, undress him slowly and kiss him everywhere until David is shaking, begging, pleading, and Patrick takes care of him.

//

On Saturday, Patrick volunteers to drive to the coffee shop and check in with Maggie, and David doesn’t fight him on it. Instead, he changes into his swim trunks and a light t-shirt, grabs his book and sits out in a lounge chair, listening to the soft sounds of the water and the breeze. He really does want to make it through a couple chapters, but soon he’s setting his book on the ground and leaning back in the chair, and when he wakes up, it’s an hour later.

Patrick’s not in the house when he wakes up, and a low-level worry starts to twinge in David. Maybe something’s really wrong at the store. Patrick has the car but maybe if David walks to the end of the road he could at least get one bar on his phone, enough to send a text—

But when he steps outside there’s the car, and when he looks to his left there’s Patrick, standing at the fence talking to the neighbors. “Oh, hey,” he says, gesturing him over, and David goes, stepping easily into Patrick’s side, letting Patrick wind an arm around his waist. “This is Todd and Emily, they live next door.”

“Sorry to borrow your husband,” the woman says. She has a kind face and her eyes are all bright with excitement. “We were just saying hello and then he told us you were on your honeymoon! Congratulations!”

“Oh, um, thanks,” David manages, feeling slightly awkward at the attention, and maybe still a little bit out of it from his nap. “We’ve actually been married three years, though.”

“Oh?” she says, tilting her head curiously to the side.

“Yes, we, um, own a business? And when we first got married it was still in a delicate stage, so. We waited,” he says, and Patrick rubs a hand familiarly up and down his back, and David tries to relax.

“Oh, how lovely,” she says, looking genuinely happy for them in a way that makes David soften.

“We’ve been married thirty years,” her husband says, “and we wish you all the luck in the world.”

For some reason, David didn’t expect him to say that, maybe thought he would get some adage about not going to bed angry or communication, and he feels inexplicably choked up at the simplicity of it, the kindness. “Thank you,” Patrick says smoothly, always put together when David is not. “It was so nice to meet you.”

“Enjoy your stay!” the husband calls after them, and Patrick leads them inside while David waves over his shoulder.

“There was a bit of a vendor problem at the store,” Patrick says once they get inside, like that whole exchange hadn’t just happened. “A shipment got delivered twice, so I was on with Maggie a little longer than I expected to be, but it’s all handled.” He sets the keys on the counter casually, coming over to give David a quick kiss hello.

“You taste like ice cream,” is all David can think to say.

“Yeah, I discovered the latte à la mode too,” he says with a grin, crooked and beautiful. “I think I’m gonna swim,” he says, and then heads to the bedroom, leaving David in the hallway, still processing.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and lets out a breath, trying to center himself. He doesn’t know why the last five minutes are hitting him so hard, but he grabs his sunglasses off the counter and heads back out to the lounge chair, determined to lose himself in his book this time.

So he pretends not to notice when Patrick emerges and makes his way down to the lake, dipping into the water in one smooth motion, going under and then coming back up, running his hands through his hair. David’s grateful his sunglasses shield his gaze as he watches, but Patrick just looks so peaceful out there—there are birds calling and insects buzzing but Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, just looking out across the water, then floating on his back, just totally unfettered, and David almost can’t look away. It’s so rare to see him like this. Usually David can see his mind whirring away, or a knot of tension in his shoulders, or something, but right now he just looks… content. Relaxed. Perfect.

After a bit, he’s getting out, walking back through the yard, and okay, David can accept there’s probably not going to be any meaningful reading getting done today. He puts down the book again and flicks his sunglasses down his nose to check out Patrick blatantly, making a show of it. Patrick laughs, coming in close, hands on the arms of David’s chair, boxing him in. “Hi,” he says, close, leaning down and kissing David slow and with intent.

“You’re dripping on me,” David says when he pulls away, trying to sound displeased but smiling too hard for it to work.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, grinning wide and full. “I’ll tell you a secret, I’ve come over here with a mission.”

“Oh yeah?” David asks, playful, indulging in another kiss. “What’s that?”

“I think you should get in with me,” Patrick says, plucking lightly at David’s t-shirt. “I got bored out there.”

“Did you? And what possibly makes you think having me out there will make it more fun?”

Patrick smirks, moving to tug at David’s hand. “Let me show you.”

David lets himself be pulled up, removing his sunglasses and pulling off his shirt to toss it back on the lounge chair as he follows. Patrick leads him into the water gently, pressing their palms together just above the surface and then threading their fingers together. “It’s nice, huh?” he asks, and David nods, hums in agreement.

Patrick draws them out a little farther, and the water is the perfect, cool and calm and moving gently. “You know, it might even still be nice if you got your hair wet,” Patrick suggests teasingly, and David shoots him a warning look. He shrugs in response. “Just something you might want to consider before there’s… splashing,” he finishes, and David groans.

“So you thought it would be more fun if I was out here to terrorize, that’s it,” David protests, disentangling from Patrick’s hands and stepping back.

“That’s it,” Patrick agrees, and when he has that look on his face there’s no use fighting it, so David dips under the water, just for a second, before coming up and pushing back his hair and blinking the water out of his eyes.

“Okay, are you happy—” David says, but is cut off when Patrick’s strong arms go around his waist, slotting their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Patrick’s holding him up a little, and David steadies himself with one hand on his shoulder, one behind his head, and lets Patrick’s tongue fuck into his mouth, slow and so good it makes him shiver a little bit.

Patrick’s panting a little when he pulls away. “I wanted to make out with you, but I didn’t want to be the one to get you wet,” he admits, smiling and mischievous, and David rolls his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” he replies, which is a lie and they both know it, and Patrick laughs softly and kisses him again, smiling into it, and David sighs.

//

David can see that Patrick’s going a little stir crazy the next day, without any hikes nearby that are really convenient, or any jogging trails he knows. He can see it in the set of his shoulders. Swimming isn’t enough, he knows Patrick enjoys swimming but doesn’t really see it as a workout; he says laps are too boring.

They’re eating some salads David had thrown together for them for lunch, and he can see from the way that Patrick’s jiggling his knee and holding his fork and sitting that he needs to do something active, something to get out the excess energy. They’ve been together long enough for him to know this.

“Why don’t we try canoeing?” he asks, trying to sound like this is not a wildly out of character suggestion for him. Patrick’s head shoots up, obviously shocked. David hedges, concentrating on stabbing a cucumber with particular force. “I saw the stuff in the shed, I thought you might enjoy it.”

“And you wanna come too?” Patrick asks, as if he can’t believe it, and all of a sudden David has a lump in his throat, can barely speak.

“I just want you to have a good time,” he says, feeling desperate for no reason, and Patrick reaches forward, takes his hand.

“David,” he says, “I am, let’s—let’s canoe, okay?” and David nods, clears his throat.

He doesn’t know why he cares so much about this suddenly but he does, and it’s off to a rocky start immediately when he refuses to wear a life vest. He can swim, and so can Patrick, so what’s the point of wearing a bulky orange thing? Patrick sits in the back because that’s where you steer, apparently, and he was a Scout and has experience. He gives David clear instructions, tells him where to put his hands and how to move his paddle, and it’s working, it’s going well, impossibly.

“That’s perfect David, you’re doing perfect!” Patrick says, genuine pride in his voice, and David thrills for a second that he can do this, they can do things like this together. “That’s really, really good,” he says, and David tries to relax a little but still feels tense.

It goes well until they have to turn, and then everything falls apart.

He listens and does exactly what Patrick tells him every time but it doesn’t work, they make no progress and only get further away from where they want to go. Patrick is patient, as always, and keeps suggesting things but David can’t get it right no matter what, and the thought sticks in his head and makes it worse. It’s a good fifteen minutes of trying, and he’s just getting more frustrated with every failed attempt.

“It’s okay,” Patrick says, a little out of breath. “Here, let’s just take a break. Let’s sit for a minute.” David hears him set the paddle down and thinks wildly that Patrick must be disappointed, all he wanted was a good physical activity to tire him out and David ruined it.

He bites his lip hard and breathes out harshly. He wishes he wasn’t like this, but he just wanted everything to be perfect and it’s _not_. He just wanted to give Patrick this one little thing, to say _I see you and I can make you feel better_ but he can’t, why can’t he do that?

He turns around gingerly to face Patrick, trying his damndest not to rock the boat, and sees Patrick smile fondly out of the corner of his eye. He certainly doesn’t seem upset, and that makes David’s throat even tighter, the idea that maybe this is just in his head, just like always. He fiddles with the handle of his paddle, risking a glance up at Patrick.

“I’m sorry,” David says a little miserably.

The words make Patrick’s brow furrow. “Why are you sorry?”

David grips the paddle tighter so he doesn’t flail his hands around wildly. “Just, it’s a teamwork thing, and I feel like we should be better at it.” He twists his mouth to the side and avoids Patrick’s gaze.

“David,” Patrick says, the baffled look gone now and replaced with an affectionate sort of indulgence, “It’s not—we just couldn’t get it to work, it’s not like you weren’t trying. It could be a million things, the wind or the current or whatever.”

“Mm,” David hums, noncommittal, because he still feels like it’s his fault, a little bit. Patrick did this growing up, he probably never had a problem, and on David’s first time it doesn’t work? How else do you explain that?

Patrick leans forward carefully, and the canoe shifts a little but stays steady. He peels David’s fingers off the paddle and takes one hand between his own, pressing David’s knuckles to his lips and then looking at him dead on. His eyes are fierce and protective and David is so grateful for him, always. “We’ve run a store together for five years,” he says, voice soft. “And we’ve been married for three. So far, I think they’ve both gone pretty well, and I think those are much better measures of how well we work together as a team than a random afternoon in a canoe, don’t you?” he asks, and David feels his eyes sting with tears.

He blinks rapidly to stave them off, shaking his head a little bit as he hears Patrick chuckle gently as he tries to think of something, anything to change the subject. “So we’re going to be stuck out here forever, huh?”

Patrick treats him to a playful smile. “Nope,” he says determinedly, pointing back at the shore a few cottages down from the one David has come to think of as theirs. “We can just drift in. We’ll probably end up over there, and then we’ll just carry the canoe back down to the dock.” He looks back at David. “Okay?”

David nods in response, lips pressed together, determined. “Okay,” he says, and Patrick grins at him, and David feels pretty happy to have made that happen.

It goes fine. They chat until they hit the shoreline, and it’s relaxing, and by the time they’re dragging the boat out of the water he feels much more himself. Patrick starts to walk around him to get the other end, but pauses on his way to wind an arm around David’s waist, give him a squeeze, press a kiss to his cheek.

“A little hectic in your head today, huh?” he asks, and if any other partner had ever said that to him David would immediately be on the defensive, but with Patrick, he just feels grateful that he knows, sees, can understand. He nods, letting out a deep breath.

“We’ll have to find a good way to distract you,” he says with a wicked grin, moving around to the back, and David rolls his eyes. He just smiles wider. “Okay, we’re gonna flip it and carry over our heads, ready?”

David nods again, steadying, and trusts him.

There’s a breeze off the lake in the evening, so David curls up in a lounge chair with a blanket and his book while Patrick works the grill. He has a glass of red, the bottle right next to him, and Patrick has a beer, and David keeps glancing up to appreciate the way his lips look around the mouth of the bottle. He feels stupidly domestic about it, which is silly. Patrick cooks plenty for them back home, it’s not like it’s anything new, but David thrills all the same.

They watch the sun go down as they eat. There’s a little radio they dragged out that plays something old and classic with the volume on low. They finish David’s bottle of wine between them, and Patrick is kind enough to troop back in and get another. It’s not enough to keep David warm though, and even with the blanket, he can’t hide his shiver.

“David,” Patrick sighs when he notices. “You should have said something.”

“It’s fine,” David insists, trying to speak through his chattering teeth, eyes following Patrick to the back porch, where there’s a little woodshed. He chooses a few small logs, picking up some sticks off the ground on his way back over, and throwing them into the fire pit before him, sending an unimpressed glance over at David.

He does some arranging and grabs the lighter he’d used on the grill earlier. It takes a couple tries, but he gets it, and the whole process doesn’t take longer than half an hour. “Wow,” David drawls as Patrick stands back up, eyes flicking over him in an appreciative up and down. “I’m really getting to see all your Scouts skills today.” He holds his arms out like a prompt, and Patrick takes it, rolls his eyes with good humor and sits in David’s lap, making sure to readjust the blanket so it’s around them both.

“Can you just admit when you’re cold?”

“Patrick, I’m cold _literally_ all the time, just take it as a given.”

Patrick sighs heavily but runs a hand quickly up and down David’s arm, as if determined to chase away the goosebumps. He’s still shaking a little bit as he holds Patrick, who presses a soft kiss to David’s temple. They listen to the fire crack and pop in silence, David’s eyes blurring a little bit with exhaustion from the day’s events, and their position becomes more of a comfortable cuddle.

It’s quiet for a moment as David thinks about all the things Patrick can do that he can’t: build fires, and canoe, of course, but easily talk to neighbors, too, look and feel at home almost anywhere. He likes the way they complement each other, most of the time, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t traits Patrick has that he’s envious of. An ease with which he moves through the world most of the time that David sometimes wishes he could borrow, just for a second.

He knows it’s not completely natural, either. He’s seen Patrick practice what he’s going to say to someone, muttering under his breath, or beat himself up when something doesn’t come easily to him the way he believes it should. He’s seen the cracks in that casual facade, has watched as Patrick tries to patch them up, fill them in.

“What were you afraid of, as a kid?” he asks, voice kind of small, and feels Patrick’s responding chuckle.

“What were _you_ afraid of as a kid, David?” he asks, immediate.

“Mm, moths,” David replies, winding his arms a little tighter around Patrick’s middle. Patrick’s still laughing softly, holding David a little tighter back. “No, seriously. What were you scared of?”

Patrick’s quiet for a second, and David pulls back a little so he can see his face. His cheeks are pink, face bashful. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“_You_ laughed at moths!” David protests, because it’s true, and Patrick relents.

“Okay, okay, fine. I was afraid of the dark,” he admits, smile in his voice, and David stills.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he continues, barrelling on with determination, the way he does when something’s hard to say. “I always had a nightlight in my room, growing up. One time we were staying at my grandparents’ house, just for a weekend—I think it was for a family reunion or something—and I forgot my nightlight at home.” He looks kind of fond, self-deprecating, shaking his head at the memory. “We were literally only going to be there two nights, so my parents didn’t want to go buy a replacement… anyway, I cried for hours, tried to pretend I wasn’t. I didn’t want to leave my room, either, and break the rules, so I didn’t know my parents were tearing the house apart looking to see if there was an old one in the basement.” He scrubs a hand over his face, a little embarrassed.

“Did they find one?” David prompts, so invested in the image of young, five-year-old Patrick he can extrapolate from other stories he’s heard over the years: with his soft baby curls, clutching his teddy bear in the dark on an air mattress, trying to stifle his tears.

“No,” Patrick admits. “My mom came back and cracked the door open, left the hallway light on. She rubbed my back until I fell asleep. Still, I slept through most of the reunion the next day, and my dad had to carry me around on his hip the whole time. They stopped at the store to buy one on our way back,” he finishes, voice going a little quiet at the end.

David thinks of the fire Patrick just set up to keep him warm, the way the light flickers on his face, soft across his features. He knows you outgrow childhood fears, he knows that’s how it works. But he wishes sometimes that he could see Patrick as a kid—even Patrick six years ago—and tell him he’s the kind of person who builds fires in the dark without a second thought.

“You know, fires draw moths,” he says instead, faux-nervous, and Patrick laughs, head thrown back before cupping David’s face in his hands, drawing him in.

“I’ll protect you, baby,” he teases as he goes in to kiss him, and David’s throat tightens as he thinks, _you always do_.

//

On Monday, the store is closed, so they don’t have to leave the house.

They go for a dip in the lake early in the morning, when clouds of mist hang over the surface of the water. It’s cold, and David whines about until Patrick kisses him quiet, tells him to listen and watch. They keep still, hear the early morning birds, watching the animals scurrying up trees and ducks further down on the lake. It’s peaceful, it’s nice, until David starts shivering too hard and Patrick drags him inside.

“Absolutely not!” David insists when Patrick makes to pull him down into the bed first thing, between kisses. “You’re not kissing any part of me that’s been covered in lake water, absolutely not.” He pushes Patrick towards the shower, determined despite the way the long column of his throat looks laughing, the way David wants to sink his teeth into it.

“You don’t wanna join me?”

“You’ll just get distracted!” he says, turning on the hot water and pulling the door closed behind him, then rummaging around the hall closet to find a towel. He spreads it out on the floor to avoid dripping onto the hardwood, sitting up against the side of the bed and scrolling through his phone while he waits. There’s still no service, only one little bar of WiFi which is useless, so instead he scrolls through the pictures he’s taken over the past few days. There’s Patrick in the rental car, beanie pulled over his head, there’s Patrick smiling across the sheets their first night, there he is again, soft in profile as he makes breakfast. _Post pictures!_ the Brewers and Alexis and their vendors had said, but so far, there’s not a single one David wants to share with the world. They all feel too private, somehow. Too much like the Patrick only he gets to see.

Patrick emerges, finally, and David slips into the shower behind him, taking his time to wash his hair and let the hot water loosen his muscles. The bathroom steams up and he opens the door to let out the humidity when he’s done, towel wrapped around his waist, fingers gentle on his own face as he applies moisturizer, SPF, eye cream.

Patrick’s sitting on the bed, flipping through David’s book. David feels his eyes track over him as he pads over to the dresser he’d filled with his clothes. Patrick’s in soft blue boxers, a thin white tee. He shuffles to the side of the bed, reaching out to grab David’s hand as he heads back in to change.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says with a playful smile, pulling David in so he’s standing between Patrick’s legs where he’s seated on the bed.

David rolls his eyes but goes, draping his arms slowly over Patrick’s shoulders, savoring everywhere their skin touches. He likes the way Patrick cranes up to kiss him, slow and warm, before he gets a hand on the small of David’s back, urging him to crawl up onto the mattress, towel falling onto the floor.

“I thought we were getting ready for the day,” he murmurs between them, heart skipping a beat at the hitch in Patrick’s breath as he presses him up against the pillows, hands rubbing slowly over the cotton of his shirt, over his abs.

“Don’t let me distract you,” he says with a crooked grin, and David can’t help but smile like the cat that got the cream, hand cradling Patrick’s head to kiss him again, with more purpose this time.

They kiss deep and slow, lazy, hands greedy for skin, until Patrick’s fully naked and underneath him. He likes David’s weight on him, David knows, and he’s paying close attention to every little gasp and groan he makes as a result.

Sometimes they play this game where Patrick doesn’t ask for more, just takes what David gives him, and it’s delicious. When they’d first started sleeping together, he’d been so quiet in bed, his voice breathy and fragile and David had treasured it, but also longed to break that pattern, wanted to make him ask or beg or scream for what he wanted. But he likes it this way now too, anticipating what Patrick will want and making it happen, but drawing it out so it takes forever. That’s how he fingers him now, in slow, fluid motions while Patrick fists his hands in the sheets, waits him out.

“I want you,” he says finally, voice hoarse with desire, and David presses a quick kiss to his thigh as he pulls his fingers carefully out, getting up to grab a condom from their bag, retrieving the lube where it got lost in the sheets.

“You have me,” he replies, soft and genuine, and Patrick’s eyes shine, watery and full of emotion.

They don’t do it this way often and that makes it feel kind of special, makes David want to memorize the way it feels as he lines himself up and presses in slow, inch by inch. Patrick lets out these high, tight little noises, eyes squeezed shut as he takes it, breathes through it harshly.

“God, David,” he says once he’s fully inside him, and David hitches Patrick’s leg over him at the same time as Patrick reaches down to dig his fingers into David’s ass, urging him on. David kisses him over and over to distract him as he starts to move his hips, thrusts rolling into each other slowly.

“Can you—” David tries, voice taut with effort as he starts to get into a faster rhythm, and automatically Patrick hitches his other leg up too so David can move a little easier, making them both groan.

“Love this,” Patrick exhales as the heat grows between them, the word a little broken. “Love you, David, please,” he says, and fuck, David’s going to fall to pieces. He loves knowing all the ways he can take Patrick apart, but there’s something different about this one, the way he goes so quiet and desperate and perfect, pliant and easy for David’s touch, his kiss, his cock inside him making him tremble. He knows what Patrick’s asking for too, he wants David to come, wants him to lose it and gasp, pant into his neck, close and wet and intimate.

“I’m gonna,” he manages, lips lush and blurry over Patrick’s pulse. “Can I please, please—”

“Fuck, David, _yes_,” Patrick manages, and it doesn’t take much more, he comes, thrusts going erratic and sloppy, letting out overcome, overwhelmed noises into Patrick’s skin.

He slows for a moment after, resting his weight on Patrick as he catches his breath, comes back to himself. Patrick’s still letting out these little whimpery, turned on noises as David pulls out, rolls to the side to wrap his hand around Patrick, but it doesn’t take more than a few quick pulls before he’s coming on his abs, his chest, fast and reckless.

“Oh,” David breathes, half a laugh, and Patrick’s laughing too, arm tossed over his eyes.

“Shh,” Patrick says, shoving at him lightly. “Be useful, go get a washcloth.”

He does, taking off the condom and dropping it into the trash on the way, unable to resist teasing a little, bed bouncing slightly as he climbs back on. “_Useful_, like I didn’t just fuck you and make you come so hard you made a mess—”

Patrick reaches for him, kissing him slow and sweet and grateful. “David,” he says fondly, “Hush.”

He pulls him down and into him when he’s done, pulling the sheet over them both and sighing out contentedly. David can’t stop smiling, thinking only Patrick could basically tell him to shut up so sweetly and still make him feel so good about it.

They doze off even though it’s still mid-morning, which he knows Patrick will probably feel guilty about in a bit, but David feels pretty strongly that this is what honeymoons are for. He wakes up a little while later, head still pillowed on Patrick’s chest, looking down at where Patrick’s other hand—the one not on David’s shoulder—is resting against his stomach. David can see the gleam of his wedding ring there and thumbs over it so, so gently, in hopes of not waking him.

He’s still touching it when Patrick wakes up, some indeterminate amount of time later. David didn’t want to move and check for fear of waking him. He starts a little, makes a small noise, and sort of settles into it, kissing the top of David’s head. “We’re being so lazy,” he says, like it’s scandalous, moving his hand closer so David doesn’t have to reach so far to touch him.

“We’re allowed a lazy day,” David says, and god, he can hear the smile in his own voice. “We exercised this morning.”

Patrick laughs, a low sound that shakes his chest slightly, and David threads their fingers together but holds their hands apart in the air so he can stroke slowly over Patrick’s palm with his thumb. “Do you realize that couple next door has been married ten times as long as us?” he asks, tipping his head up so he can see Patrick’s face, the way a smile warms his features slowly.

“Are you keeping score?” he asks, eyes slightly narrowed, voice teasing.

David rolls his eyes, looking back to their intertwined hands. “I was just thinking about… how time feels different now,” he says, and then cringes at his own words immediately. He’s been turning it over in his head all morning, but out loud it sounds silly. Patrick waits for him to continue.

“Just, the time I lived in town before I met you felt so long,” he says, clearing his throat. Patrick slides his hand, presses their palms together, lengthens their fingers. “And now we’ve been married three years and it feels like… nothing.”

It’s quiet for a minute. Patrick stretches his hand wide, David mimics his movement. “I was engaged to Rachel for two,” he says, and David kind of remembers knowing that, though he can’t remember the last time he thought about it. The words are so soft David almost doesn’t hear them. “It does feel different. Those two years with her, they—they never felt like this.”

Patrick slides down on the bed, gently dislodging David so they’re side by side, looking into each other’s eyes. He takes David’s hands in his own and kisses his knuckles tenderly. David thinks about the first time Patrick did that—he remembers the moment vividly, though he has no idea what the context was—and the way he wanted to cry because that had never happened to him in bed before, no one had ever looked into his eyes so lovingly and touched him so gently. It doesn’t feel so scary anymore, but it still happens rarely enough that it hits him fresh every time.

“I don’t wanna tempt fate—” Patrick says, the ghost of a smile on his face, the slightest of teases, “—but I feel like, if time keeps moving the way it is… I can see us in thirty years, David.”

David doesn’t know why his brain is like this, but his mind casts them immediately to the other side of the fence, talking to some newlyweds and looking so settled, so comfortable. He can see it too.

He nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, and surges forward to kiss him, trying to pour all the fierce feeling that’s hot in his chest into the kiss. Patrick kisses him soothingly, as if he could slow him down, but that’s the last thing David wants.

This time they fuck greedily—nails scraping down skin and hands tugging at hair and Patrick pressing his face to the nape of David’s neck, panting hot and desperate, because David had begged _fuck my thighs, please, please,_ and Patrick had. He feels messy and frenzied and wonderful, savoring every rough slide and the way Patrick wraps a hand around him, jerks him off so perfectly. He likes the way Patrick’s body moves like this, like he just can’t get enough of it. He gets them so close to the edge more than once, then slows down, takes some deep, calming breaths, kissing David’s hairline and telling him to _be good, baby, breathe_ until they’re both a little more steady, and then working them back up again. When David finally comes he sees stars, feels his limbs go limp and useless, lets Patrick move him and clean him up and take care of him.

They still don’t get out of bed.

They lay there, catching their breath, and then eventually Patrick reaches for his own book after while David digs his journal out of his bag. They relax in pleasant harmony, drifting in and out of conversations. David’s trying to sketch Patrick’s feet where his ankles are crossed at the end of the bed, but he gives up after too long, choosing instead to scribble down his different memories from this week, ideas he’s had about the store, etc.

Patrick had teased him initially about bringing a few books—_what, do you think you’re going to be bored?_—but David noticed the first night when they were unpacking that he’d brought some too. He’d tried to tease him back, but Patrick had shrugged and said _I want you to relax however you want_ so easily that he couldn’t even bring himself to make fun, just blushed and returned to his own unpacking instead. Right now Patrick’s reading a sports memoir. David doesn’t really know much else beyond that, but he likes the way Patrick looks when he’s concentrating on it.

They do get hungry eventually, and David traipses downstairs in a hastily pulled-on pair of Patrick’s boxers to scrounge up a cheese plate of sorts, and brings it up with a bottle of wine, because why not. He’s getting the feeling they’re not leaving the house today and he has absolutely no problem with that. Patrick raises an eyebrow with humor, saying, “You know there’s a frozen lasagna in the freezer, right?”

David shoots him a look. “Mm, I don’t know if beggars can be choosers when you’re literally getting your lunch delivered to you in bed by your gorgeous husband—”

Patrick laughs, pulling him close as he says, “I get it, you’re just committing to the day’s aesthetic,” and kisses him. He lets David eat more than his fair share of the bread to go with the cheeses, which David takes as an acceptable apology.

They have sex again after: giggly, can’t stop touching or teasing or messing with each other kind of sex, and Patrick’s boxers end up discarded somewhere in the tangled sheets on David’s side of the bed. Patrick blows him, enthusiastic and merciless with the way he pulls out all of David’s favorite tricks, gets him going from laughter to gasping so fast he almost can’t keep up. Patrick starts jerking himself off about halfway through, and David will never stop finding it so ridiculously attractive that giving head turns him on _so_ much, that using his mouth does that to him.

“Fuck,” Patrick says after they’ve come, flopping down on the bed shoulder to shoulder with David.

He can’t resist the joke. “I don’t think I could again, honey,” he says, unable to keep a straight face through it, and Patrick shoves at him with a grin as he gets out of bed.

“I’ve literally had clothes on for less than an hour today? And yet I’m taking a shower again,” he says, and David listens to the familiar sounds of him turning on the water, pulling back the shower curtain and—whistling.

The first time they’d slept together at Stevie’s place, he’d been absolutely struck by the sound of Patrick whistling in the shower. Slowly it had become normal, commonplace, but here, in this strange bed, in this house that isn’t theirs, it feels memorable all over again. He has the same butterflies in his stomach, the same dumb, wide smile as he stares up at the ceiling.

Wildly, he remembers a quote that had come on the card to one of their wedding gifts. It was from some random cousin of Patrick’s, but David can still picture the flourishing script. He grabs for his journal, unearths his pen from the rumpled duvet mostly shoved toward the foot of the bed, and writes it in the blank space around the drawing of Patrick’s ankles he’d been working on earlier. _A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person._

After, he tosses it back into his bag and goes to join Patrick in the shower, to kiss him under the spray and wash his hair and take care of him.

//

He knows before he even goes to bed that Patrick will be antsy tomorrow from a whole day spent cooped up in the house—well, in the bedroom, really—and sure enough, his alarm goes off at 8 AM.

“C’mon, David,” he murmurs, kissing his forehead. He smells good: clean, like he just put on cologne and also made coffee, but David is still sleepy. He feels Patrick’s fingers carding softly through his hair. “I found an antiques market and I wanna get there when it opens, we could maybe get some good stuff for the store.”

“Or the house,” David says, mostly into his pillow, and he hears Patrick’s voice from farther away now, like he’s in the hall as he repeats back, amused, “Or the house.”

After some coffee he feels better, can _almost_ match Patrick’s energy level though he’s not quite sure he’ll ever get there completely. “How did you even know about this?” he asks over the rim of his travel mug, and Patrick looks a little sheepish behind the wheel.

“We’ve been over this, you know I can’t sleep more than eight hours,” he says, and David tries not to be too delighted by the silly fact that his husband sleeps like a _toddler_, up at the crack of dawn if he went to bed too early the night before. He’s picturing Patrick sitting up in bed and googling “fun things to do” plus the zip code at 6 AM, and knows from experience he’s probably not far from the truth.

It’s a bit of a drive, but David can tell as soon as they park that it’s going to be a winner. He’s almost sad that they mostly have to look at small stuff, or things that are durable enough to ship, because there are so many pieces he likes. He finds a cute refinished desk that would work so perfectly in the backroom, and a mid-century modern coffee table Patrick basically has to tear him away from. But it isn’t all a loss: they find some prints they agree will definitely work in the store, and he unearths some vintage jewelry he can give Alexis for her birthday.

His favorite part is definitely the stall that houses shoeboxes full of old postcards, and they spent a good twenty minutes there combing through them. They read their favorites aloud to each other: there are some really funny ones, some beautiful illustrations, and a couple that are so sweet that David can see Patrick tearing up right there.

“It’s crazy to think these were written 70, 80 years ago,” Patrick says, flipping through them slowly, “And some of them are…” He trails off, shaking his head, but David knows what he means. He sees the two of them in some of these too, is just as bowled over by the way some of them hit him, reflect things he’s thought to himself in the middle of the night or written in his journal.

He thinks Patrick snags a few of them when he’s not looking, but he’s on the phone with Maggie while Patrick checks out, so he’ll just have to be surprised.

“I’m starving,” David says first thing when they leave, and so Patrick laughs and drives them back to town, since they’re currently even more in the middle of nowhere than they were before. He parks at a meter and they walk through downtown for the first time. It’s quaint, has a sort of cozy charm that David admires. It’s not _unlike_ home, really.

They eventually decide to try a little cafe with a large glass case of pastries front and center, a display of loose leaf teas behind the counter for Patrick. There are paninis and quiches and samosas and salads and soups, and David… well, he wants everything, frankly, but he gets the artichoke quiche, and Patrick lets him have a few bites of his curried chicken samosa. Everything tastes amazing, but he would prefer it all with fewer doilies, ideally.

When they’re finished, they continue to wander, and David tries really hard not to think about how this is their last full day here, that they have to go home tomorrow. There’s the bittersweetness of that when they walk down the main drag, past the cute storefronts and over the cracked sidewalks. Patrick holds his hand.

There’s a used bookstore they spend a good hour in; the shelves are full to bursting and David basically camps out in the art and photography section, because the owner has some gorgeous large editions that he’s honestly pricing too low. Still, he’s already concerned about the weight of their suitcases and he thinks Patrick would maybe lose his mind a little if David added any more books to his “to be read” pile.

There’s a spinning carousel of postcards at the front, and David tugs on Patrick’s hand on the way out to look through them. He picks four basically at random and pays while the owner puts them in a little paper bag and tells them to have a nice day.

“Who are you gonna send those to?” Patrick asks when they’re back outside, looking at him a little quizzically.

David smirks at him, tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. “Oh, they’re not for that.” Patrick’s face goes surprised, and David thrills. “You get two and I get two.”

He looks down at his shoes for a moment, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and when he looks back up, he feels a little bit exposed for being sentimental or something. But Patrick’s looking at him like he’s a shining light, so he tries to take a deep breath. “Like the postcards at the market. We can write each other silly things or romantic things and, I don’t know. I just thought it was something we could maybe try but we don’t have to, it was spontaneous—”

Patrick stops in his tracks, lets David babble uselessly for a few seconds more before pulling him in and kissing him, lips tipping up at the corners. It’s a short kiss, but it fills David’s insides, makes him feel light and shiny and a little bit precious when Patrick pulls away, looking at him like he’s something incredible. “You thought we’d start a new tradition,” he says wonderingly, and David nods, because he gets it, of course he gets it. Fuck, David could write one of his postcards right now, could make it say all the things he wants it to say and get it right. “I love that,” Patrick continues, and he kisses David again, a little longer, and David cups Patrick’s face in his hands, brushes his thumbs over Patrick’s cheekbones, and loves him so fully.

It doesn’t take long to see the whole downtown area, and then Patrick drives them back to the house. David drops their stuff on the kitchen island and then heads back out into the backyard to retrieve the dirty wine glasses they’d left out there the other night.

“Hey!” Todd calls from their adjacent backyard. “How are ya?”

David waves back a little tentatively, but then Todd and Emily both are coming closer, and okay, he can make conversation. “Doing well, thanks!” he says, walking over, trying not to think about how much more natural it would sound if Patrick said it.

“Oh, we’re so glad! We were just saying the other day—weren’t we, Todd—we should have those boys over for dinner, give them a night off from cooking, do something nice!” Emily says, so genuine and effusive that she kind of reminds David of Marcy a little bit, and that makes him smile.

“That’s—that’s very sweet, but we really wouldn’t want to impose on your evening,” he says, actually feeling very touched by the invitation.

“Oh, please, we’d love to have you!” Todd says, giving David a friendly clap on the shoulder. “We’re grilling steaks tonight and we have more than enough.”

Patrick comes out just then, timing so perfect that David couldn’t have wished for better, and Todd calls his name and waves him over. Patrick comes, rubbing David’s back a little bit as Todd extends the invitation again. “It’s really no trouble,” Emily insists.

Patrick looks at him for a moment, considering, and David shrugs. “It’s just that frozen lasagna in the fridge anyway,” he says, and Patrick grins, nodding.

“Sure, we’d love to.”

Emily sets them up with generous glasses of wine and insists they sit, doesn’t allow either of them to help. Patrick toes the line with that, scrambling to hand her the corkscrew, the salad tongs, be there anytime she reaches for something. She smiles. “Something tells me this one isn’t so good at relaxing,” she says, shooting David a wink.

“Oh, it’s killing him,” David confirms, much to Patrick’s chagrin.

Todd takes pity on Patrick and calls him over to the grill. He hears them in the background talking about Todd’s interest in nature photography, showing Patrick some of his shots, both of them taking turns snapping a few, while he’s left to chat with Emily. She asks what they’ve been doing around town, so David tells her about their day. He mentions the cafe and it turns out they’re friends with the owners. This naturally leads to talking about the store, and Emily is sweet and interested in it, the conversation carrying as they gather around their patio set in the back to eat. Then they’re asking about how they met, the wedding, their story.

There are couples who tell their story like a coordinated dance, David knows. He’s seen his own parents do it time after time, pausing for the other person to jump in at just the right place so that it feels cute. He and Patrick… well, it feels more like banter, interrupting each other and stepping on each other’s toes. But it makes Emily and Todd laugh, and soon he and Patrick are laughing too.

“And so he offered to take me for a birthday dinner, but chickened out on mentioning it was a date—”

“Well, it _was_ a date until you surprised me by inviting your best friend along too,” Patrick says, and David rolls his eyes fondly as their hosts howl with laughter.

He realizes they don’t often get a chance to tell this story much. Occasionally a new vendor or customer will ask, but most everyone in town watched it happen from close range. He watches the joy in Patrick’s eyes at getting to explain it, the comedy of errors they stumbled through to get there and David’s kind of glad for that, that it gets to feel new and fresh every time.

“Our honeymoon was a mess,” Todd admits a little later, shaking his head.

“Oh, it was horrible,” Emily agrees, head in her hands. “We’d booked a cruise, had this plan for all the fun excursions we would do, and then Todd gets the worst flu he’s ever had on day _two_.”

“Seriously, I could barely get my head out of the toilet but I kept saying, ‘c’mon, it’s not that bad, we had that reservation!’” he says, both of them laughing amiably now.

“I mean, you two know,” Emily says, gesturing at them both casually, like they’re equals, which strikes David for some reason. “There’s this kind of _pressure_ when you first get married? Maybe it’s a holdover from the wedding, I don’t know, but I felt it with the honeymoon, and our first place, and the first anniversary… it just took me a while to stop trying to micromanage and control all these tiny, silly details,” she admits, shaking her head at herself with a smile.

“We learned to let it breathe,” Todd agrees, taking her hand sweetly, and David threads his fingers slowly with Patrick’s under the table. “It helps take the pressure off when you realize the best parts of your honeymoon were staying in bed, doing crossword puzzles with your favorite person, sick as a dog.”

The thought sticks with David as they leave, Todd and Emily giving them both warm hugs and waving them off cheerfully, wishing them a safe flight tomorrow. Patrick and Todd had even exchanged phone numbers, saying he’d send him some pictures he took tonight—he’d even had them pose for some at one point, which had made David feel a little shy—but he feels a slightly more at ease in general after the conversations tonight, even if he is exhausted. It’s been a long day.

They get ready for bed kind of slowly, turning off the lights around the host and changing into pajamas. They navigate around each other in the bathroom with practice the same way they do at home, easy and familiar. David stands closer than he needs on purpose as they brush their teeth, bumping against Patrick’s hip as they take turns spitting in the sink. Patrick smiles around his toothbrush, and David reaches for his phone on the counter, snapping a picture of them in the mirror before he can object. Patrick lets out a little groan of protest after, though he doesn’t say anything until David’s flopped backwards on the bed, holding his phone above his face, waiting for him.

“You clam up when someone offers to take our picture at that nice restaurant, or in Todd and Emily’s backyard,” he says, walking over to his side of the bed and pulling back the covers. David scooches over, quirking his mouth to the side. “But you have no qualms taking a blurry mirror selfie, despite the fact that it took over a month of dating to let me see you in your informal pajamas.”

David sighs, crawling into bed too, propping himself up against the pillows with a huff. “Okay, first of all, you should be flattered I deemed you worthy of my silk set?” He shuffles closer to Patrick, tucking himself into his side, flipping back to the picture and zooming in. “Also, look how soft you look.”

Patrick blushes even though David compliments him all the time now, he should be used to it. But David just loves it too much: the little wave to his hair, the stubble of his jaw, the soft t-shirt and bemused expression. Still, Patrick takes the phone, moving the focus of the photo over to David’s face, pinching in to the crooked, private smile on David’s lips. “I like that part,” he murmurs, handing the phone back, and kissing the top of David’s head before he moves to turn out the light on his side.

//

Their flight home is in the afternoon, so David doesn’t feel bad that they basically collapsed last night with all of their stuff still everywhere. However, with how relaxed Patrick’s been this week, David had almost forgotten that he gets stressed about flights, up earlier than he needs to be with a specific kind of nervous energy. He buzzes around the house, picking up things and throwing them into suitcases, much less organized than when they came, checking the status of their flights on his phone every twenty minutes or so.

David keeps a bit of a distance but tries to be quietly helpful, packing up the toiletries just so and pointing out when Patrick’s working himself into a panic about not being able to find his hat that he’s already wearing it.

“Sorry,” Patrick sighs, sounding kind of miserable.

David kisses his temple. “It’s fine,” he says, easy as anything. He knows Patrick’s been this way his whole life, ever since he first got on a plane at fifteen to go visit his great aunt Jennifer with his grandma. He could tell the story from memory, the way Patrick felt so scared and just kept wishing his mom was there, even though he was so close with his grandma, and then guilty for feeling that way, and then nearly threw up when they hit a bout of turbulence mid-flight. And still, every time, Patrick apologizes, as if David might possibly think that it’s actually about him this time. He wants to say it’s okay, that Patrick shouldn’t have to apologize for his anxieties, but he knows from experience that will only spool him up worse. “I put your phone charger with mine, in the front pocket of our carry-on,” he says instead, because he knows Patrick always freaks out about the chargers at the last minute. Patrick smiles like he knows what David is trying to say instead.

Finally, they get their bags in the trunk and close up the house, leaving the key in the lockbox as instructed. Patrick stands at the driver’s side with the door open for a moment, looking at it kind of wistfully.

David presses his lips together and tries to think of something worthwhile to say. He can’t think of anything in time, so when Patrick looks over at him and sighs, all David can do is offer a smile, caught somewhere between bittersweet and encouraging. Patrick smiles back, and they get into the car.

The mood hangs over them still as they drive, turn in the rental car, go through security and wander through the airport. David gets a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and Patrick gets some kind of sad wrap from a little kiosk place that David wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. They do all the same things they did on the way here, but minus the enthusiasm. David can’t even bring himself to flip all the way through Oprah’s magazine, and they end up at the gate, tired and a little somber.

Finally, the announcements start to come on and David tries to remind himself that they’re going home, that Alexis will be all over them for any little detail and Stevie will pretend not to have missed them at all, but will go all touched and sweet over the handmade mug they brought her as a thank you for watering their plants. His dad will hug them both happily, his mom will squeeze his hand affectionately. And tomorrow, they’ll get back to the store, _their_ store, and as good as it was not to think about it near-constantly the past week, he suddenly can’t wait to get behind the counter, knows that when he does it will feel like a deep breath. It all cheers him a little to think about, and he wants to do the same for Patrick.

“Hey,” David says, nudging Patrick’s shoulder with his own as they stand in line, waiting to board. Patrick turns to look at him slowly, still looking a little bit slumped and sad. “Did you have fun?” he asks.

Patrick’s face goes even more heartbroken, like he can’t believe he even had to ask. “David, of _course_ I had fun, what do you—”

“Okay,” David says placatingly, rubbing his shoulder, trying to stop that anxiety train before it careens off the tracks. “Okay, then, let’s not wait so long next time. Let’s—let’s make a real effort to take time together, for real. It doesn’t have to be a big vacation, just like—a weekend away or a small trip once a year that isn’t centered around work. Okay?”

He watches Patrick’s expression soften and wonders if he knows how much it meant to David to see him relax this past week. They both have a tendency to be workhorses in different ways, he knows that, but it was such a fucking gift to look at Patrick and not see the wheels turning anxiously in his head at all times, trying to puzzle out some problem for them.

David does it too, he knows. They both have a tendency to when they’re home. And over the course of the five years they’ve been together, they’ve gotten pretty good at pulling each other out of it. But there’s something different about taking the time to get away, to do silly things like spend all day in bed and play footsie under tables and kiss in the middle of the street.

“Okay,” Patrick says, quiet with emotion, but he’s smiling tentatively now, and David feels so glad and amazed that he can do that, that he can help change Patrick’s outlook or make him feel better. He still feels awed by that after five years, and he’s not sure he’ll ever stop.

David holds his hand for a moment and they wait in silence, and then Patrick turns to him all of a sudden. “So what were you thinking for the next one?” he asks, like he’s genuinely curious, and David doesn’t want to break but he can’t help but smile, scrunched and secret.

“Well,” he says, looping his arm through Patrick’s and resting his chin on his shoulder. “I do remember being promised Mallorca, after you first proposed?”

A grin fights its way onto Patrick’s face. “That’s just because that one couple on your Instagram was vacationing there and it was all you could talk about,” he says, tone familiar, teasing but fond all at once. “I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”

“Fine,” David huffs, overplaying the dramatics, untangling himself. “I guess if not Mallorca, I could settle for the Maldives?”

“The _Maldives,_” Patrick repeats with a smirk. “_Settle_ for the Maldives.”

“You know, if you weren’t prepared to keep me in the luxury lifestyle I’m accustomed to, I don’t know why you married me,” he says, flailing his arms around and going for his brattiest voice. Patrick laughs.

“I think the lifestyle you’re more accustomed to is more like…” Patrick trails off, winding an arm around David’s waist, pulling him close. His voice drops low. “A bed and breakfast in Hillsdale? Or a spa weekend in Elm Valley? I think we could probably even spring for a couple days in Toronto, if you wanted.”

David smiles, slow and irresistible. “Mm, sexy.” He leans in and kisses Patrick, open and teasing, and then boarding starts.

He lets Patrick stow their carry-on in the overhead bin and fiddles around on his phone while everyone settles in. He has the window, because his saint of a husband “doesn’t really mind the middle,” and he angles his phone so Patrick won’t be able to see what he’s doing.

He was editing their picture at the gate a little bit, while they waited. It’s the one Todd took of them last night, one of only a couple from this week that they’re both in. And he really did a good job—the sun is setting behind them on the lake, but they’re lit from the lanterns and lights from the house inside, and it makes them look a little bit like they’re glowing. David’s hand is on Patrick’s shoulder and he’s smiling, a little secret but still pleased, slightly more private in contrast with Patrick’s warm, open grin. Both of them are slightly flushed from the wine and the laughter, and they look utterly serene, the picture of casual intimacy, and David loves it, every little detail, from the way you can see the line of Patrick’s collarbone where his shirt is unbuttoned to the way his own long fingers look curled around Patrick’s shoulder.

He opens Instagram, selecting it and tagging Patrick, thinking for a moment before typing the caption. There are all kinds of over-sentimental things in his heart that he would rather die than let people see, and there are playful, funny ones too, but none of them feel right. He types in a simple, genuine _Thanks for this week_ into the box, looks at it for a minute, and then posts.

Patrick sits down and buckles his seatbelt immediately, hands going to the armrests and clutching them hard, even though they won’t be taking off for a while. He lets out a harsh, anxious breath, and David gives him his most reassuring smile.

“How long is a flight to the Maldives?” Patrick asks a little tensely, and David laughs, resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder and reaching out to wrap a hand around his wrist, thumb soothing back and forth over the jut of bone there.

“We can negotiate,” he says softly. “For honeymoon number two.”

The words startle a laugh out of Patrick, real and bright, and David snuggles in a little closer.

“Anywhere you want,” Patrick replies after a moment, just as quietly. He lifts their hands, pressing a kiss to David’s, and David bites his lip, concentrating on the tight, safe feeling in his chest the whole way home.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a really collaborative effort between myself, Claire, and Em. Claire generously gifted me many ideas from her own vacations and experiences for inspiration (honeymoons one and four in particular are her ideas). Em was kind enough to help me talk through emotional arcs, Patrick headcanons, and conversations about their marriage at all hours of the night. I’ve seen a lot of people commenting on elements that were really from one of them, so I just wanted to acknowledge that here (though I will also point out things that are theirs in replies to comments!), because they were indispensable to making this fic what it is. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Please come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit) when I'm talking about Schitt's Creek too much instead of working on coursework! :)


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